


What the Righteous Man Ruined

by rea_of_sunshine



Series: Cas, the Righteous Man [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Anna Can't Help, Asexual Character, Awesome Bobby, Awesome Charlie, Awesome Ellen, Bet You Weren't Expecting Those Two, Big Brother Dean, Bisexual Dean, Bobby Knows, Bobby's House, Bottom Dean, Brainwashed Castiel, Canon Lesbian Character, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Castiel and Dean in Love, Castiel's Terrible Family, Charlie Ships It, Cheater Dean, Confused Castiel, Crazy Castiel, Depressed Sam, Drunk John Winchester, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Gay Sex, Human Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore Is a Ray of Sunshine, Jessica Moore Lives, Lilith and John Winchester, M/M, Minor Bela Talbot/Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Ellen, Rape, Religious Castiel, Religious Content, april kelly is a rapist, castiel's mom is an asshole, sober john winchester?, yeah neither was i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_of_sunshine/pseuds/rea_of_sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>     <em>What we had was clinging hands. It was fervent lips and seeking tongues. It was a million degrees in the dead of winter and equally as cold in the swelter of summer. It was the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced. It was also the worst. It was making love to my best friend and waking up desperate to talk to someone about the confusion, the darkness that came with the sex and being unable to because He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to. It was seeing my sister and her boyfriend, His brother and his girl, and wanting to be normal for once in my life.</em></p><p>     Cas’ cheeks burn. He knows what he wrote, and he knows that the truth in the words is terrifying. He loves Dean, God, does he ever, but they were a supernova. Supernovas are meant to burn bright, not forever, and if Dean gets to be that supernova, then Cas can live with being the endless black hole he leaves in his wake. As long as Dean still burns bright somewhere in this universe…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the long awaited start of Part Two. As you can see by the summary, there will be some serious doubts and turmoils and overall angst...I know...I suck. However, there will be fluff (good God, Dean is a goober and Samica--i.e. Sam and Jess, I don't know...--are tooth-rottingly sweet) to balance out the sadness. As long as you don't think about it too much, there's really no angst at all in the beginning! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

     Cas’ first day in the clinic is hell. 

     The instant he gets there, they force a set of 'vitamins' down his throat and shove him into a too-hot shower that will ‘wash the sin off him'. All that their generic soaps do is strip him of any remains of Dean’s smell and leave him raw. After the scalding shower, they push him into a borrowed shirt and borrowed pants because his deal with his mom did not allow for clothes in her hurried escape. Then, they sit him in a circle with at least a dozen wide eyes staring at him. There are men and women of all ages, shapes, sizes, and colors, each of them staring at Cas like he's the fresh meat.

     “Okay,” a woman says, stealing his attention away from his fascinated group. He looks at her, her reddish hair pulled back in a tight and professional up-do, and thinks that she is too cold to be in a line of service that requires any people interaction at all. “I’ll begin then. My name is Naomi. I am your sexuality councilor. I have never been attracted to someone of the same sex, because that is wrong." She looks around the circle, pausing to stare into each pair of eyes with contempt before moving on to the next person. "However," she continues when she reaches the end of the group. "I do care about each and every one of you and hope to guide and support you on your road to recovery from this disease. Now, this is the first stage of your recovery, so you are all probably feeling a little adamant and angry. Our goal in this stage is to help you acknowledge that homosexuality is _wrong._ It will be an uphill battle, but we can beat this as a group." She looks around the circle as though she were expecting a round of applause for her wonderful speed. Silence is her standing ovation, and she sighs upon its receipt. "Who would like to share first?” she asks after a moment, and a young red-head with fiery green eyes pops her hand up, bringing Naomi’s lips to a purse. 

     “Yes, Charlie?”

     “Yeah, hi, I’m Charlie, born and bred lesbian. So, I’ve been in stage one of your ‘recovery clinic’ for weeks. Shouldn’t I be moved on to stage two?” 

     “Well, Charlie, have you acknowledged that homosexuality is a sin?” Naomi sits higher in her chair, hands folded over her knees. She looks as though she is awaiting an epic battle. 

     “Well, since we spoke yesterday in our private, I have mentally undressed Scarlett Johansson at least twelve times. Oh, also, I masturbated this morning to a lesbian porno that I’ve had committed to memory since I was fifteen years old.” Charlie shrugs, dropping her bottom lip open in a way that clearly says _oops, sorry._ Naomi’s eyes darken, and Cas decides right there that he rather likes this Charlie girl. 

     “We’ll talk about this later, Charlie,” Naomi grits out, but Charlie only sits back in her seat, smug smile on her lips.

     “Can we be naked?” she asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows, and Cas chokes back a laugh. 

     “ _Enough_ ,” Naomi deems, holding Charlie’s eyes before turning her attention around the rest of the circle. Her eyes land on Cas, and he immediately squirms under the weight of her gaze. “Hi,” she drawls, obviously speaking to Cas. “You’re new. Tell us your name, what your problem is, and what is on your mind.” Cas blinks, and looks around the room to the people sitting on metal folding chairs. Some look broken. Some look rebellious. Some look interested, but Cas can't look at any of them. 

     “Uh, my name is Castiel. My _problem,_ I guess…? Is that I like men. I’m gay, and really, the only thing on my mind right now is my boyfriend.” Cas shrugs, and when he looks up, he sees Charlie’s intrigued green eyes locked on him. 

     “Ah, so you have an accomplice,” Naomi says, tsking quietly. “Well, group, what do we say about accomplices?” 

     “Accomplices are part of the problem,” a few members of the group chorus in monotone. “They tempt and encourage our sinful nature to act vilely.” Naomi beams at her group of victims, then pulls her eyes back to Cas. 

     “He isn’t vile. I love him,” Cas defends, sparked by her hateful implications and Charlie's rebellious words to raise as much hell about the situation as he can. He will not go down this road without a fight.

     “Okay,” Naomi says patronizingly. “ _Castiel,_ do you believe homosexuality is wrong?” she asks, voice chipper and head cocked to the side. Cas brings his eyes up from the floor. 

     “What?” he asks, incredulous at the question. No, he doesn’t think homosexuality is wrong. It’s a part of who he is. It’s not something that can be changed, despite the efforts of this damn clinic. 

     “Homosexuality is wrong. Do you agree?” she asks again, slower as if he were dumb, and if Cas weren’t so busy reeling, he’d tell her to fuck off just on principle. Lucky for him though, the girl named Charlie speaks up, arm slung over the back of the chair next to her. 

     “I don’t know, Doc,” Charlie says, glancing to the girl whose chair she uses as a prop. She takes her in from the sole of her shoes to the crown of her head, very obviously tossing every stitch of clothing she comes across to the side. The look is enough to have even Cas blushing. 

     “I’m not a doctor,” Naomi says, eyes narrowed as she draws the attention away from Charlie's hungry stare, but Charlie starts up again as though Naomi never spoke. 

     “You shouldn’t knock homosexuality until you’ve tried it. Have you ever _tasted_ a girl? I don’t know about you guys—well, I do, sort of—but having my face deep between a girls legs is seriously,” she pauses and looks to her neighbor, mentally tearing her apart again before continuing, “The hottest thing ever.” 

     “Charlie, that is enough,” Naomi says, but Charlie’s eyes are already glittering. Cas can't help but grin. 

     “I start with broad licks, you know. Spread her legs wide and dive right in, licking her open until it’s more than spit slicking the way. I may suck a little here and there, just to—”

     “ _Enough,_ ” Naomi spits, interrupting Charlie's verbal porno. Cas watches at least half the girls in the room shift, crossing their legs a bit tighter than necessary. “You are dismissed from group.” Charlie whoops and stands. 

     “Always a pleasure, Doc,” she says exiting the circle and heading for the door. “Peace out, bitches.” As soon as the door shuts behind her, Naomi visibly relaxes, fists unclenching in her lap. 

     “That was Charlie, and as she said, she has been in phase one for quite some time. Please excuse her foul mouth. She will be punished for that later.” Naomi shakes her head and dives back into the group session. It lasts for nearly another half hour, and all Cas can think about is the fact that he never got to say goodbye to Dean. When group is dismissed, Cas heads to his assigned room to escape these people, but Naomi stops him. 

     “Castiel, hi, I’d love to have a private session with you. Normally, we save the first day for getting settled, but this accomplice of yours has me very concerned. I want to pick your brain about him for a moment if you’ll allow me.” Naomi smiles a smile that, while she surely thinks is disarming, makes every hackle Cas has rise. 

     “Okay,” Cas says anyway, because it’s Dean, and Cas loves talking about Dean. 

     “Great,” she says, and leads him to a small room with two big chairs and a desk. She immediately sinks into one, pulling a clipboard into her lap and filling out a few blanks before turning to Cas, motioning for him to sit in the chair facing her. “So, Castiel, why don’t you start by telling me a little about your home life. Parents, siblings, friends. Anything.”

     “Okay...I have a mom, a sister, a brother, and a best friend who I’m in love with,” Cas says dryly, but Naomi doesn’t seem to mind. She simply jots down a word or two before looking back up to Cas.

     “Do you and your mother get along?”

     “No. She’s a controlling and manipulative _bitch_ who couldn’t accept that her son was gay. Hence why I’m here.” 

     “I’m just here to help you, Castiel. There is no need to be hostile with me.” Naomi takes a deep breath, and Cas wants nothing more than Dean here with him. “It says here," she says, motioning to her clipboard. Cas cranes his neck, and before she shifts, he swears he sees his mother's handwriting. Naomi continues, regardless. "That you willingly agreed to seek out help. That is a big step, one that I was _hoping_ meant you were already past the first stage, but..." She lets out a breath as though she were extremely disappointed in him, as though Cas gives a damn if she is. "As I can see from our group session today, you aren’t ready for stage two.” 

     “What is stage two?” Cas asks, curiosity getting the better of his irritation.

     “Well, we here at the clinic work by a twelve step system. The first being admitting that you have a problem, that homosexuality is wrong. The second step is believing that God can fix you.” Naomi’s face is a beacon of tranquility, resonating truth and light. Cas wants to deck her for it. 

     “Your ‘cure’ to homosexuality is an _AA program_?” Cas sneers and nearly laughs at the irony. “Jesus Christ, what is going on?” he asks, more to himself than Jesus Christ and even less to Naomi. 

     “What’s 'going on here,' is that you have enrolled yourself in a sexual orientation change effort, and we are going to help cure you. And for your information, the twelve-step program is a guide to conquering any addiction, not just alcoholism.” Naomi looks offended, and Cas doesn’t have the time to care. Instead, he is hanging his head in his hand, trying to rub the headache away. 

     “Fine. I’d just like to go home, so the sooner I make it through all twelve steps, the sooner I _can_. What was step one again? Admit I have a problem. Okay. I like dick. I like dick in my hand. I like dick in my mouth. I like dick in my ass. I like dick. There. Problem admitted. On to step two.” Naomi sets her jaw before speaking, eyes narrowed at Cas. 

     “Do you agree that homosexuality is wrong?” she asks, and Cas knows that this is his chance. If he tells her yes, he’ll move on to step two, and be only eleven steps away from Dean. 

     “Yes,” Cas says with a solemn nod of his head, the lie bitter on the back of his tongue. Naomi’s eyes narrow as they look at him.

     “Okay. Good. Now, why don’t you tell me about this best friend of yours?”

     “What about him?” Cas asks, shifting in his seat. He feels as though the yielding leather could swallow him whole. 

     “What’s his name for starters?” She holds out her hands, palms up in a shrug. It’s Cas’ turn to narrow his eyes. 

     “Ken,” Cas grits out after a moment, not wanting to tell her anything. Cas knows Dean would hate the Ken Doll reference, but he’s in a corner here, and Naomi nods as she jots down the false name. 

     “And you’re in love with him?” she asks, and Cas prepares himself for the lie, swallowing the bile that the thought of not loving him brings. 

     “No,” he says stiffly, looking away from her. 

     “You just said,” she starts, but he cuts her off.

     “Yes, I know. You’ve made me see the error of my ways. He’s bad. I’m bad for wanting him.” 

     “Castiel, what color are his eyes?” she asks, and the question throws him. 

     “Green,” he answers hesitantly, unsure of what the question has to do with anything. 

     “And what is his favorite type of music?”

     “1980’s rock,” Cas answers easily. He knows Dean like the back of his hand, has read him again and again like his favorite book. He's still unsure of why any of this is relevant. 

     “You know an awful lot about him not to have feelings for him.”

     “He’s my best friend,” Cas says with a shrug, his face hot with the accusation. “Of course I know this stuff about him.” 

     “Of course,” she says with an agreeable shrug. “I just wonder...could he tell me what _your_ favorite music is?” And Cas is left speechless. He’s not sure if Dean could tell her. They’ve only ever listened to _his_ music when they were together. “That’s all for today, Castiel. Go by the front desk to get your vitamins and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow for stage one group at nine o’clock.” She looks down to her clipboard without sparing another glance at Castiel. Cas makes his way out of her office feeling dazed. 

     When Cas makes it back to his assigned room, he meets his roommate for the first time. 

     “Hello,” he says when he enters, but the guy never looks up from his bed. Cas wonders idly if it’s ever counterproductive to put two gay males into a room together. “I’m Castiel,” he says, walking over and reaching out a hand. His roommate glances up. 

     “I’m Lucifer,” he says disinterestedly, not offering a hand to shake.

     “Wow…and I thought _I_ got the short end of the stick being named after an angel,” Cas tries to joke, his heart heavy. Lucifer looks at Cas with disdain.

     “I’m not here to make friends,” he says, so Cas drops his hand.

     “Alrighty then,” he says with a sigh, and turns away from his roommate. “Lovely.” 

     His wake up call sounds bright and early the next morning. 

     “Castiel, Lucifer, get up,” someone calls, banging on the door until Lucifer crawls out of bed and throws it open.

     “We’re up, you tremendous nitwits,” Lucifer growls, slamming it shut once the message has been delivered. Cas sits up in his twin size bed, paper sheets rough against the plastic mattress. “Assholes,” Lucifer grumbles, turning back to his bed. He groans when he sees Cas. “Damn, I was hoping it was just a nightmare.” Cas grunts and lays back down. He crawls out of bed a while later, checks in at the front desk where, surprise, pills, and makes his way into his group session. 

     “So, Castiel,” Naomi says when it is his turn to share in group. “Do you feel like sharing?” Cas looks up from his hands. He had been listening for the entirety of the group session as Naomi called on someone only to bash their hopes in. He hates this woman. 

     “Sure,” he says, blinking and rising from his chair. “My name is Castiel.”

     “What is your problem?” Naomi prompts, just as Castiel hoped she would. 

     “I’m gay as shit, but it isn’t a problem. I love cock. Cock is the best thing that ever happened to me. Do you even _know_ how many orgasms I’ve been given because of a fat cock up my ass?” 

     “Castiel,” Naomi spits, reeling back in her chair as though someone had slapped her. Cas offers her a shit eating grin and sits back down. She doesn’t call on him for the rest of group, and when their private comes, she says nothing for the entirety of the first half hour. Cas says nothing either, perfectly content to sit and stare at her being disgusted by him. “You said yesterday you wanted to progress." She says finally, her voice somewhat desperate. It gives him great joy to think he's breaking her. "What happened?” _I decided that I hate you,_ Cas thinks venomously, but says nothing. Naomi eventually sighs. “Fine. You should know though, that we are only here to help.” Cas looks away, and after a while, he is dismissed into the hallway where he comes face to face with the girl from group. Charlie, Cas recalls, slightly dazed.

     “Hi,” she starts, falling into step beside him. “I’m Charlie. You’re Castiel, right?”

     “Yeah,” he says, glancing down to her. “You can call me Cas.” She offers a small smile, one completely unlike the predatory grin she held in the group meeting. 

     “So listen, that was really cool what you said today in group,” she starts, brushing her short red hair back behind her ear. “This place sucks, but people like you make it better.” 

     “Yes, I noticed you seem a bit obstinate about the whole endeavor,” Cas says, deadpan. 

     “True. I have been working my ass off to remain extremely gay in the face of all this anti-gay and negativity,” she says with a grin. 

     “Sounds challenging.”

     “It is,” Charlie says, her voice suddenly very serious. “These people suck, but they are hella good at their jobs. They shove those damned pills down your throat and wear you down and break your spirit and make you think that you are nothing just because you like the same sex. There have even been a few times when they’ve made _me_ wonder if loving girls is wrong.”

     “How do you manage to stay strong?” Cas asks, teasing banter gone from his words with the very real warning Charlie is offering. She smiles a bit and motions her head over her shoulder.

     “Come with me,” she says, turning their walk and leading them down one of the residential hallways. She turns into a room near the end and holds the door open to Cas. “This is my room, and my witch of a roommate, Dorothy.”

     “Homophile,” sneers the girl sitting on the bed, dark hair tied back behind her, eyes never leaving the book she’s leaned over. 

     “Hypocrite,” Charlie tosses back, moving towards her own bed, not once glancing at Dorothy.

     “Stage one,” Dorothy retorts, flipping the page slowly.

     “Traitor,” Charlie snaps, pulling open her bedside drawer and taking a picture out.

     “I’m not a traitor just because I’ve found sex appeal in people of the opposite sex,” Dorothy says, looking up from her book over to Charlie. 

     “You’re not supposed to be finding sex appeal at all, you beautiful asexual flamingo!” Charlie shouts, but Dorothy only rolls her eyes, marks her place in her book, and leaves. Charlie huffs when she’s gone. “Me and Dorothy were best friends in high school. She was ace, and I was lesbian, and everyone thought we were weird. Then she said she’d had enough of people treating her like shit because she wasn’t interested in sex. We came here together because she wanted to be ‘cured,’ and I wanted to keep an eye on her. She was fine until she got to stage seven, _humbly ask God to remove our shortcomings._ Then she disappeared for a few hours, and when she came back, she was tear stained and laughing. She was _laughing._ She said they showed her that ‘sexual attractions are good for the body and soul.’” Charlie falls silent, lost in some memory. “They raped her, Cas,” she says eventually, voice soft and scared. “She stopped talking to me after I confronted her about the rape. She said it was consensual and that it meant a lot to her, but she couldn’t even tell me his name.” 

     “Jesus,” Cas murmurs, stunned and scared. 

     “She’s on step ten now, which is the continued assessment of our sexual attractions and admittance to any failures. Do you know how fucked up that is, Cas? They didn’t even recognize that there are orientations in which people experience little to no sexual attraction.” Charlie sighs, looking down to the faded photograph in her hands. Cas glances down to it as well, seeing a smiling Charlie, arm wrapped around a laughing brunette whose waving hair is twisted back from her face with what looks to be a crown of flowers. Charlie sees him looking at the couple and smiles. “This is Gilda,” she says, eyes soft and tender. “ _She’s_ the reason I’ve managed to stay strong.” 

     “You don’t really seem like the settling down type,” Cas says with a soft smile.

     “Because of group? Yeah...a lot of what I do and say is just to piss Naomi off. I definitely like girls, but I’m not as…well, _promiscuous_ as I make myself seem to be in group. Hell, I would be in the exact same boat as Dorothy, brainwashed, that is, if I didn’t have Gilda...if she didn’t love me.” Charlie pauses to look down to the photo in her hands before continuing. “I learned that if I want to walk out of this place the same as I walked into it, I needed to put every ounce of my faith in my love for her. As soon as Dorothy is out of here, so am I, on to see my girl again.”

     “But I thought you hated Dorothy,” Cas presses softly.

     “Hate her?” Charlie asks with a scoff. “God, no. I love Dorothy. She’s been like a sister to me my whole life. I’m not going to let her go through this alone, even if we come out on opposite ends of the tunnel.” They sit in silence for a long while, Charlie staring down at Gilda and Cas wishing Dean were there next to him. “Don't take the pills," Charlie says suddenly, her brows pulled low over her eyes. "If you can help it, don't take them. Push them to your cheek or under your tongue or some shit but don't take them." 

     "What are they?" he asks, his stomach rolling in fear because this is the second day in a row he _has_ swallowed the pills.

     "They're experimental drugs...something akin to sodium thiopental, which sounds scary as hell, even if you didn't know that it was once used as a component of lethal injection. I would assume that the effect they're going for here is a mild desensitizing or compliance." Charlie shrugs, and Cas has to scoff to hide the broke swallow of fear. 

     "Been a while since you've taken your meds?" he asks, and she offers him a slippery grin that soon fades to a soft smile.

     "If you have someone you love," she begins gently, fiddling with the photo in her hands. "Hold on to him, make sure he knows you need him now more than ever, and go through the steps, Cas. Just do it. Hold on to him, and make your way through the steps as quickly as possible. Put a wall up around all the bullshit they’ll tell you, because they’re going to tell you some bullshit, and go home to him.” Cas stares at her for a long while, but she is looking at Gilda. 

     “His name is Dean,” he says finally, a smile ghosting across his lips. “He has green eyes and freckles all over his body.” Charlie looks up, a smile touching her cheeks. 

     “Gilda has this little mole on her right shoulder blade. She keeps saying she wants to cut it off, but I adore it. I make it a point to kiss it every chance I get.” Charlie’s eyes are soft, her smile gooey. 

     “Dean’s really insecure about himself,” he starts, crossing his legs on her bed and staring up to the ceiling. “He tries to hide it, but I know. He’s especially insecure about his stomach because he’s got this soft, _squishy_ little tummy. Don’t get me wrong, he’s built like a linebacker, broad shoulders, biceps the size of my neck, thighs like steel, but for some reason, he just can’t get rid of that little tummy.” Cas grins, thinking of all the hickeys he’s left on that glorious little tummy. Charlie is smiling. 

     “Cas, can I ask you a favor?” 

     “Sure,” he says, glancing over at her. 

     “Can we be partners in this? Like, if I start to lose the fact that I love her, can you just, I don’t know, snap me out of it. I just, I really love her, and I’m scared that _this_ , these people, are stronger than I am. I’m scared that they’re going to convince me it isn’t real.” 

     “Of course,” Cas says softly. 

     “Thanks, Cas,” Charlie says, leaning close and resting her head on Cas’ shoulder. Cas stiffens but allows it, staying under her weight until Naomi appears in the doorway. 

     “Poor choice of company, Castiel,” she says, shoulders back and hands clasped before her. She looks like a royal bitch.

     “Oh no, it’s not what it looks like. We’re actually having a secret affair and this is has all been one big, elaborate ruse. Can we go home now?” Charlie asks, pulling her head off Cas’ shoulder and putting a sharpness in her voice that Cas hasn’t heard since the group session. 

     “Will you please excuse us, Castiel?” Naomi asks, ignoring Charlie's comment completely. “It’s time for Ms. Bradbury’s punishment.”

     “Ooh, kinky,” Charlie says, bringing a hand up in a claw-like manner and rolling her tongue.

     “Um, I’ll see you later, Charlie,” Cas says, standing and moving past Naomi.

     “Hey, Cas,” Charlie calls before he is gone down the hallway. “Do the freckles make shapes?” she asks, her eyes glowing. Cas smiles at her. 

     “Yeah,” he says, flashing back to fingers trailing over spotted shoulders, lips pressing against each and every freckle. “Millions and billions of shapes.”


	2. Chapter 2

     Fifteen days without Dean, and Cas has Naomi convinced that he truly believes being gay is wrong. Fifteen days without Dean, and Cas has her convinced that he believes God can "fix him", that he has given his life over to Him, effectively conquering step two and three. He is well on his way to completing his "searching and fearless moral inventory of himself," step four. He hates every goddamn minute of it for the doubt it plants in him, but he spends the night unloading it onto Charlie, and Charlie groans right back, telling him about how angry Naomi got in group that day, or about how gray Gilda’s eyes look when it rains. 

     Cas writes Dean letters. Long ones, short ones, ones about Charlie, ones about Lucifer. He writes to Dean how much he misses him. He begs him not to give up. He never gets a response, and by week two, he is becoming slightly discouraged.

     “Maybe they’re stealing your mail,” Charlie offers after seeing Cas' face fall with another week of an empty mail hole. “I’m still convinced they took the first few letters I wrote to Gilda. When I started addressing them to Gladys Bradbury, my ‘sister’, her replies magically started coming.” 

     “Yeah,” Cas murmurs. “You’re probably right." Cas feels weak. He is not strong without Dean. He's forgetting the pull of Dean Winchester, forgetting what it felt like to be loved by him. "I think I’m gonna go call my sister," he says, pushing himself off his bed, away from Charlie because he does not want to talk about it. "Maybe she’s seen him.” He gives her a small wave before heading to the front. The walk seems to take an eternity. Each step is weighted with, _something is wrong,_ and _Dean should be answering,_ and _he doesn't love me anymore._ “Hi,” he says to the man behind the front desk, voice a little too loud from the effort it takes to silence his doubts. “I’d like to make a phone call.” 

     “Number,” the man asks, and Cas tells him, reaching for the receiver when it is offered out to him. It rings a few times before her voice comes through the line. 

     “Hello?” Anna asks, noise bustling up around her. She is probably at a party. It _is_ Friday night after all, and school is back in full swing. 

     “Anna,” Cas breathes, a smile in his voice. He has missed his little sister. “How are you?”

     “ _Cas_ ,” she gasps, and he smiles. “How am I? How are _you_? I haven’t heard your voice in weeks.”

     “Have you gotten my letters?” 

     “My reply is in the mailbox waiting to be sent,” she says with a laugh. “I miss you, Cas,” she says quietly, gently. 

     “Miss you too, baby sister." Cas fiddles with the hem of his shirt. He knows what he wants to ask her, but he's not sure if he wants to know the answer. "Hey," he says finally, feigning nonchalance even thought his voice is shaking. "Will you ask Deana if she got my letters? I haven’t heard anything from her since I got here.”

     “Deana?” she asks, then it clicks. “Oh, gender-bend for the patrols. I got you.” A beat of silence passes and Cas' heartbeat soars in terror. “Listen, Cas…I haven’t seen Dean in weeks. Not since you left. He called the next night asking about you, and I told him you were in the clinic, told him what you said.” 

     “What else did you say?” Cas chokes out, glancing at the worker who is watching him intensely. 

     “I told him that you were being a stubborn ass about leaving.” 

     “Did you say why?”

     “ _I_ don’t know why, Cas,” she says softly, and it occurs to Cas that no, she doesn’t know. 

     “Mom and I made a deal,” he says slowly. He wants Dean to know that he did this to protect him, that he did not leave of his own accord. 

     "Cas...you didn't," Anna says, and Cas closes his eyes. "Dean would be _so_ fucking pissed at you if he knew. God damn, Cas, what the fuck were you thinking?!"

     "I was thinking that I'd come here and get better while Deana slept safely in her own house with Sam," Cas spits, because it doesn't matter if Dean's pissed, only that he's safe. "You know if John knew Deana would never see Sam again. You know what would happen." 

     “ _Better_ ," she mimics, stealing his words from moments ago and ignoring the main point of his words. Dean must be safe. "Cas, you’re not broken. You know that right?”

     “Yeah, Anna…” Another beat of silence. “Did she make good on our deal?” 

     “As far as I know,” Anna says, and Cas can practically hear the helpless shrug in her voice. 

     “Okay,” Cas murmurs, a small relief washing over him. Dean is safe. Dean is ignoring him, and as much as that hurts, Dean is safe. “So how have you been?” he asks, all hostilities gone as they continue to talk until the man at the desk tells him lights out is in a matter of minutes and he is forced to tell his sister goodbye. Cas goes back to Charlie, alone and heart heavy. 

     “You okay?” she asks, pushing her hair back in concern. 

     “Yeah,” he answers, pulling her to her feet so they can walk to their respective rooms together. “I just miss him.” 

     Needing Dean is not a new feeling for Cas. Cas has always needed him, and Dean has always needed Cas. Dean needed Cas at six, crying under that tree because he thought there was no one left in the world who could love him. Cas needed Dean at seven, having gotten glasses and bullies for his trouble. He needed Dean to sit by him on the playground and remind him that not everyone is mean and cruel. Dean needed Cas at eight, the week Sammy got pneumonia and stayed in the hospital for five days with lips the color of Dean's favorite light blue crayon. Cas needed Dean at nine, ten, twelve, seventeen, day one, day two, day three, so on into infinity, and Dean has reciprocated every single moment of his need. He has always been there, whether Cas needed him to help hang fliers for the GSA or to kiss away the shit day he'd been having... 

     God, Cas misses kissing Dean. He misses the laughing teases before class, the heavy tongues during sex, the sleepy brushes of midday, the hot, the cold, the angry, the gentle. He misses Dean's incessant, scratchy-ass stubble. Cas sighs as he falls into bed, the ghost of those kisses teasing his skin, and when he sleeps, he dreams in memories. 

      _They are eleven...the first time Cas_ considered _boys. He is looking at Dean, and the thought, when it presents itself in his mind, startles him. It isn't anything sexual; he is still too innocent for sex and desire, but it is shocking none the less. Dean is sitting next to him on the couch, eyes alight as he takes in every frame of his favorite action movie. Cas has been made to watch this movie at least a dozen times, and each time, he finds himself watching Dean more than the last and definitely more than the movie, because the movie has gotten old, and Dean makes these faces every time without fail as though he were watching the Creation._ I think I'd like to marry him, _Cas thinks, and as soon as the thought appears, his face contorts into confusion. He is not shocked that he thought that about Dean. From the very first moment, Cas knew that Dean would be in his life forever. He's shocked because he never thought he would want to be Dean's husband, he's terrified because Dean likes Robin and Cas doesn't like boys._

      _Of course, Cas doesn't do anything about the thought, tells himself he never will. He does not want to be gay. Dean is a boy and Cas is a boy and they won't talk about marrying each other. Cas doesn't want to talk about it anyway. He wants to pass it off as a moment of intense_ platonic _love for Dean and file the thought away. Cas does just that as he turns back to the movie he's seen a hundred times._

      _Time flashes forward in Cas' dream, and he is staring down to a drunken Dean. He looks fifteen, maybe sixteen, and they are in the tree house. Cas wonders how Dean got up there as drunk as he is._

      _"You here to tell me that I'm worthless too?" Dean asks, staring up to Cas with eyes that are bloodshot, be it from the tears or the alcohol, Cas doesn't know._

      _"Have I ever made you feel worthless, Dean Winchester?" Cas asks, sitting beside Dean on the hard, wooden floor and staring at him. Cas has finally come to terms with the fact that he's gay. He doesn't mind anymore, but that thought of marrying Dean has stayed labled as_ intense platonic love _in his mind. He's too scared he'll ruin their friendship to think otherwise. Cas blinks and tears well up in Dean's eyes._

      _"No," Dean whispers, and Cas smiles softly. "No, you've always been the one to pick me up." Dean's voice is slurred, and Cas wants to reach out and smooth the tears from his face. It breaks his heart to see Dean like this._

      _"What happened?" Cas asks, and Dean snorts, his laughter turning to sobs soon enough._

      _"I should never have been born," he wails, tears and spitle flying over them. His body is wrecked with sobs, and Cas flinches away from the horribleness of Dean's words. He could not imagine his life had Dean never been born... It would be silent and dark and cold._ Cas _would be silent and dark and cold._

      _"Don't say that," Cas says quietly, but Dean does not stop crying. "Please, Dean," Cas whispers, but it is not enough. Cas, helpless, reaches out, and Dean practically crumbles into him. He stops crying after a while but never moves from Cas' arms. They fall asleep there, Dean gulping down the affection Cas gives him and Cas breathing in Dean and his closeness. After they awake in the morning, backs stiff, limbs numb, and hearts heavy, they don't talk about the episode again._

     When the reality of harsh lights and antiseptics snaps Cas away from his dreams, from freckled cheeks and bowed legs, he lets out a groan that is nearly a sob. Even so, he rolls away from the warmth of his bed, knowing the sooner he gets moving, the sooner he’ll see Dean again. Naomi is waiting for him when he gets out of the shower, lips pressed together tightly. She leads him to her office without a word. 

     “Have you completed your inventory?” she asks when Cas is seated across from her. 

     “Yes,” he answers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his ‘inventory.’ The mock one he’d given Charlie read simply, _I was born. I learned I love cock. Now I’m here,_ and they’d both gotten a laugh out of it. What he hands to Naomi though, is pages upon pages of anxiously scribbled assessments, becoming truer and truer as the pages wear on. It began much like the one he gave to Charlie, covering the basics with a few more adjectives, but when he got to Dean, his short, choppy sentences became sprawling symphonies, singing his praises with a melancholic voice. The last lie he’d told… _I don’t miss him,_ and six paragraphs later, he’d ended it with a burst of truth that he wishes he could pretend was a lie.

_What we had was clinging hands. It was fervent lips and seeking tongues. It was a million degrees in the dead of winter and equally as cold in the swelter of summer. It was the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced. It was also the worst. It was making love to my best friend and waking up desperate to talk to someone about the confusion, the darkness that came with the sex and being unable to because He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to. It was seeing my sister and her boyfriend, His brother and his girl, and wanting to be normal for once in my life._

_I never wanted to be gay. Neither did He. We wanted to be the best men at the other’s wedding. We never wanted to be the groom to a groom. Then there was Uriel in the woods behind Rachel’s party and Alfie in the employee bathroom of_ Wiener Hut, _and it became apparent that my thinking of boys would become actively wanting them, settling for nothing else._

_And then there was ~~Dean~~ Ken, whom I’ve loved from the start, and He kissed me for that dumb play I never meant to write myself into, and we were like a snowball rolling down Mount Everest. Everything kept getting bigger and bigger, faster and faster, harder and harder to control. Now, we are nearing the bottom of our mountain, and the bodies of our loved ones lie in the wake of our descent. Here we are nearing the bottom of the mountain, and we’ve got this momentum and speed but nowhere to go, nothing to do but burst apart, settle back into the snow we were first pulled from, and pray to God that there is still hope for recovery. _

     Cas’ cheeks burn. He knows what he wrote, and he knows that the truth in his words is terrifying. There was a darkness around him when he was with Dean, an ache of anxiety in his gut because he knew it was wrong. Coming to terms with these feelings was hard for Cas. When they were together, Cas was content to live in the delusion that love is good no matter what it's form, and there was no reason to dwell on the problems when Dean was right there, his simple existence more good than Cas could ever deserve. 

     Retrospection on the relationship killed Cas, tore apart every single thing he knew about himself, his life, his love, but eventually, he came to this conclusion. He loves Dean, God, does he ever, but they were a supernova. Supernovas were meant to burn bright, not forever, and if Dean gets to be that supernova, then Cas can live with being the endless black hole he leaves in his wake. As long as Dean still burns bright somewhere in this universe…

     “Wow,” Naomi concludes, startling Cas away from the darkness of his thoughts as she straightens the last page of his inventory before folding it into his file. Cas looks down. “You felt pretty strongly about _Ken,_ huh?”

     “I know it’s wrong for me to love another man,” Cas begins softly, hanging his head a bit because he never wanted to be wrong. It occurs to Cas that he forgot to reject his meds this morning in his dazed Dean-drunk state. He feels clearer because of it...

     “Castiel,” Naomi starts, tilting her head at Cas, eyes gleaming. “Have you ever considered the possibility that what you felt for this boy wasn’t love, but mere lust driven by Satan’s temptations?” Cas’ eyes narrow.

     “I love him,” Cas insists, a bit too forcefully to be an honest completer of stage four. 

     “It was merely a suggestion,” she says, putting her hands up, palms facing Cas. “Speaking of your _beloved,_ ” she says, practically a sneer as she twirls her pen around her fingers. “How is he doing?” Cas’ eyes narrow in frustration. 

     “I wouldn’t know,” Cas mutters, knowing it is what Naomi wants to hear. 

     “Oh?” she asks, barely hiding a smile. Cas is too distraught to notice. “Have you not spoken to him?” 

     “No,” Cas snarls, eyes shining dangerously. 

     “But he’s the reason you’re here right? To keep him from being outed.”

     “I never told,” Cas starts, but Naomi keeps right on.

     “It was all about saving one man in the end, right, _Cas_?” Cas says nothing. His mom probably warned Naomi of Dean, of their situation. She has been playing him all along, and he hates them all in this moment. “If someone did that for me," Naomi continues with a small shrug. "I’d do everything in my power to thank that person.”

     “He doesn’t know. And even if he did, he doesn’t have to thank me. He’d do the same for me,” Cas says, because Dean may be a lot of things, but he isn’t disloyal. 

     “Are you sure? Because it sure seems to me, and now I know I’m just an outsider, that Dean spends an awful lot of time using _you_ to get what _he_ wants. And when you can’t give it to him, he lets you rot in a clinic that you hate.”

     “He _loves_ me,” Cas defends, but his voice isn’t as sure as it once was. He doesn't know how she learned his name.

     “Are you sure?” Naomi asks, and Cas doesn’t answer because the answer is no. Cas has always found Dean’s love for him improbable, incredible, unbelievable, but Dean has always been there to kiss him to his senses. Now Cas is alone, surrounded by people telling him that he is wrong, that he is an abomination, that he is unworthy of love. He is finding it harder and harder to keep his faith in Dean…

* * *

     Naomi smiles down to the clipboard in her lap. _Castiel Milton, self-proclaimed homosexual. Stage four, completed, stage five, pending. Shows promising doubt in same-sex relationship. With a bit more influence, he will be ready for recovery completion._ She clicks her pen, satisfied with her progress on Castiel. She feels as though she is close to cutting the last tie between him and his accomplice. She leaves her office again, looking around contentedly at all the people she’s helped. 

     “Excuse me, Mrs. Naomi,” A soft voice says, and Naomi turns. The young man before her can hardly meet her eyes. “I’ve got another letter for Castiel Milton from that Dean Winchester fellow. Do you want it with the rest of them?”

     “I don’t care what you do with the letter just as long as Castiel doesn’t know it ever existed. You can read it and live vicariously through what I’m sure are pitiful pleas for Castiel’s response.” Naomi laughs in delight, turning away as the man puts the unopened letter onto a stack of letters, each addressed to Cas in Dean’s lazy scrawl.


	3. Chapter 3

     Dean has his head in his hands. It is day seventeen without so much as a whisper of Cas. It is day seventeen of Mario Kart with Sam, _Game of Thrones_ alone, and 1,468,835 seconds without Cas. Dean has his head in his hands, and all around him there is movement and laughter, and he is drowning. 1,468,839 seconds without Cas. 

     “Dean,” Ellen says, laying a hand over his shoulder. “You’ve been sitting here for hours, honey. Are you alright?” Dean looks up. 

     “Yeah,” he says, forcing a smile that he’s sure looks tired and broken. 1,468,845 seconds without Cas. “I’m just tired.”

     “Well, let me get you something to eat,” Ellen offers, a smile on her lips before she turns away and leaves Dean alone once again with the fact that Cas is gone. 1,468,855 seconds without Cas. He puts his head back in his hands. 

* * *

      Dean is sitting on Bobby’s couch. It is day seventeen, and Sam has been pestering him since he returned from Ellen’s over an hour ago. An average of 20,000 breaths pass through Sam’s lips every day, and today, Dean swears that at least 78% of them have been used to annoy the fuck out of him. He has thrown shit, mimicked, whined, bitched, been the neediest fucker Dean's _ever_ met from dawn to dusk, and Dean has had enough.

      “ _What?_ ” Dean shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “What could you _possibly_ want now? Do you want me to cut your food for you? Chew it? Swallow it? Jesus Christ, Sam, do something for _yourself_.” Dean huffs in exasperation, then freezes as he sees the hurt flit across his brother’s face. 

      “I just wanted you to hang out with me,” Sam says quietly before turning away. 

      “Aw, shit,” Dean groans to himself, and pushes up off the couch to follow Sam. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he says when he finally catches up with him. “I’m sorry. I know that I’ve been spaced out lately. What do you want to do? I am at your disposal.” Dean offers a small bow to his baby brother in hopes of making him smile, but he sees no amusement in Sam’s face. 

      “I know you miss Cas,” he starts quietly, and suddenly, Dean is not so sorry for yelling at him. As of late, Cas has become a taboo, something to avoid talking about at all costs. 

      “This _isn’t_ about Cas,” Dean spits, spine rigid as he stares at his little brother.

      “You love him, and he willingly went to that SOCE clinic, and now, he’s ignoring you,” Sam starts again, his voice louder this time, more sure of himself. 

      “Me and Cas are fine,” Dean snarls, but Sam keeps on talking, voice getting louder and louder until he is screaming at Dean. 

      “And it’s _okay_ to miss your boyfriend, but don’t take it out on _me_ when _I’m_ just trying to _help_.”

      “ _It’s not about Cas!_ ”

      “Then stop pouting like a little _bitch!_ ” Dean pauses, mouth hanging open before he's able to snap it shut. 

      “I’m not pouting,” he says...well, he pouts. Sam rolls his eyes. 

      “I just wanted you to go to a movie with me,” he huffs, reaching up and running a hand through his shaggy hair. 

      “Let’s go,” Dean says in lieu of a better answer. Sam offers a half smile before heading for the door. They have to borrow Bobby’s truck for the movies because the Impala is still John’s POW. Sam sits in silence through the ride, and Dean knows that even though he agreed to take the twerp to the movies, Sam is still irritated with him.

      Once the tickets are bought, they sit shoulder to shoulder in silence through the previews and when the movie starts, Dean manages to turn the thoughts of Cas into a mere nagging in the back of his mind. The movie Sam picked actually turns out to be pretty funny, so naturally, he glances to his little brother, hoping to share in the joy. What isn’t natural is looking over to where his little brother just sat and seeing bright blue eyes staring forward in wonder, lips busted and parted. Dean reels, the memory washing over him. 

_They are thirteen. They are awkward kids. Cas is chubby and wide eyed. His hair has already completed the transition from light to dark, but Dean is holding onto the fair pigments for as long as possible. Cas’ voice is beginning to crack too, and at the moment, he has a good inch and a half over his best friend who has always been bigger than him. It’s unnerving for both of them. Cas glances over to see his best friend already staring._

_“What?” he asks, an unknowing and trusting smile on his face. Dean catches sight of the dark bruises under his eyes._

_“Why is your lip split?” Dean whispers, not because he doesn’t want to disturb those around him, but because the thought of Cas hurting makes him hurt. The amused grin slips off Cas’ face._

_“You don’t want to know,” Cas replies seriously, and Dean looks away._ Yes, _he thinks._ I probably don’t want to know, _and they return to their movie._

     Dean blinks, and Sam reappears before him, laughing at a punchline Dean missed. When he finishes laughing, Sam looks over at Dean, mouth opened like he wants to speak, so Dean tries to smile like he just finished laughing too, but Sam doesn’t look convinced. Still, they turn away from each other to allow Dean a break from the scrutiny of watching eyes. The rest of the movie fails to hold his attention. He keeps seeing the bruises on either side of Cas’ nose, the split in his lip. It was years after that night when Dean finally found the courage to ask again. 

_“Cas,” Dean asks, looking to his best friend over their shared dinner. Cas lost the majority of his baby fat as puberty finished taking its toll on him, but just as Cas began nearing the finish line, Dean was pushed to the start with hard and fast hands. His shoulders are broadening and his muscles are hardening and he has finally reclaimed status as the superior best friend, towering a full two inches over the 5’11 Cas. Cas looks up, eyes alight once again with unsuspecting joy. They are talking about sports. They are talking about movies. Cas has no idea. “Why were your eyes black that night?” Dean asks, his voice, though an octave lower, is still the scared voice of that thirteen year old. He's scared because he knows Cas knows what he’s talking about. Cas blinks, obviously trying to rid his eyes of the recognition and plaster on a believable smile._

      _“I ran into a door,” Cas says with a shrug, his smile never reaching his eyes before he’s diving back into his food._

      _“Don’t lie to me, Cas,” Dean murmurs, freezing Cas with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Please don’t lie to me.” Cas watches his food a moment longer before bringing his eyes slowly up to Dean._

_“Let’s go to the tree house,” Cas suggests finally, and Dean’s heart drops. If they can’t talk about it here, with little Sammy curled up next to momentarily sober John on the couch, then it’s serious. Cas pushes his plate away and stands, knowing Dean will follow._

      _The walk to their haven has never taken longer. Dean doesn’t know what, but he knows something important is hanging, precarious above them. He can feel it in Cas’ breaths, in his own heartbeat. Once they break through the trees, the climb to the top devours every ounce of strength Dean has. He must take a moment to breathe before he is able to look back at Cas. When he does though, Cas is staring out of the glassless window._

      _“Did you know I’ve only ever kissed two people?” he starts, eyes stretching out over the creek. “One was my mother,” Cas says with a laugh. Dean smiles, because he knows that’s what Cas wants from him. Then he asks, because he knows that is what Cas is really trying to tell him._

      _“Who was the other, Cas?” Dean asks gently, the laughter gone from his voice._

      _“You’re going to hate me,” he whispers, eyes frantically tearing over their stream._

      _“I could never hate you. Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Dean ribs with a smile, trying to catch his best friend’s panicked eyes. “Cas, you can tell me. It can’t be worse than that night with Amanda Heckling. She wouldn’t make out with me anywhere but in a closet.” Cas snorts._

      _“That was your idea, asshole. You were roleplaying like you were a janitor and she was a dirty student.”_

      _“See, I tell you shit like the fact that I have a minor janitor kink, and you feel like you can’t tell me who you kissed.” The amused smile on Cas' lips slips away was quickly as it appeared. “You don’t have to tell me. I just want you to know that you_ can _tell me, anything, ever, without any judgement or ridicule. Me and you don’t do that shit to each other, right?” Cas breathes deeply, hands clasped together in his lap to keep them from shaking. He nods shakily because Dean is right, breathes deeply because he's gotta, and opens his mouth because Dean deserves to know._

      _“What would you do…if you were kissing a boy and one of your friends walked up?” Cas tears his eyes away from the water, struggling to look Dean in the face. “Uriel hit me,” he finishes with a sheepish shrug, dropping his eyes to Dean’s shoulder._

      _“Uriel?” Dean mimics, watching with uncomprehending concern as Cas flinches away from the volume of his words. He didn’t realize he'd been loud. “I didn’t even know you guys were friends.”_

      _“We aren’t,” Cas says quietly, as though he were ashamed. Dean doesn’t understand._

      _“But then why—” but then Cas’ eyes flick up to Dean’s, and he realizes. “You weren’t the friend who walked up on him kissing the boy,” he says slowly, holding Cas’ eyes until the blues drop to the ground, heavy with tears. “You were the boy,” he finishes softly, watching numbly as Cas nods._

      _“He hit me until my nose broke, and I fell. They were screaming, calling me a faggot.” Cas laughs a humorless laugh. “It wasn’t like I just attacked him. We had talked about it, planned it even. I reminded him of the messages to keep him and his friend from saying anything.” Dean knows Cas will babble for hours now if Dean allows him to._

      _“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks quietly, cutting Cas off mid-breath into his next rant._

      _“I didn’t want you to hate me. I wanted to find the right way to tell you that I’m interested in men.”_

      _“No, not about that. If you want to keep your sexuality to yourself, fine, that’s your business.” Dean doesn’t manage not to sound completely bitter._

      _“Dean,” Cas interrupts, with a sigh, but Dean keeps right on talking._

      _"You know what? I am kinda mad that you didn't tell me. I'm kinda mad that you didn't tell me about you being gay, and I'm mad that you didn't tell me about Uriel." Dean is being irrational. He knows that, but the thought of Cas kissing Uriel and Dean not knowing makes him incredibly angry. "I thought I was your best friend. You don't treat your best friend like this, Cas. Best friends are supposed to trust each other."_

      _"I didn't want you to be mad."_

      _"Yeah? Well, I am," Dean snarls, standing and storming towards the door._

      _"Dean, where are you going?" Cas calls after Dean._

      _"I don't want to tell you. I'm scared you'll be_ mad," _Dean snarls and makes his way down the ladder._

      Dean blinks, the movie ends, and he drives Sam home without a word. Sam, however, is happy to fill the silence, chattering away easily about school and Jess and his happy life. Dean tries to pay attention.

      “How was the movie?” Bobby asks when they return. Dean shrugs. He doesn’t really know. He only saw bits and pieces of it; the rest of the time, he'd been seeing Cas.

      “It was good,” Sam jumps in eagerly, and Dean lets the kid have the conversation, already pulling his boots off as he heads towards the stairs. 

      “Don’t you leave those boots on my stairs, boy,” Bobby calls after Dean, leaning around the still jabbering Sam to get his message across. Dean backtracks to pick them up, but Bobby’s voice stops him again. “Ellen and Jo are coming over for dinner, so you’d better clean up before they get here.” Dean drops his head and drags up the stairs to his room. He is too drained for dinner with anyone, let alone dinner with people he knows he’ll be forced to socialize with. 

      When he comes down a few moments later, now washed and groomed, he sees Ellen swirling around in the kitchen and Jo pestering Sam as they set the table. He takes a breath because that’s what it’s all about, going through the motions, saving face until Cas comes back and jerks him from this limbo where he’s awake but dreaming of anywhere else. 

      Ellen smiles when he makes it down the stairs, big and open, and Dean loves her for it. It reminds him of his mom, which hurts as much as it helps, but still. Seeing that smiles reminds him of warm pies baked just for him on a fourth birthday, fresh-washed blankets thrown over the sun-warmed grass for a family picnic, pages in a book turned slowly at nap-time.

      “Dean,” she calls, opening her arms wide to him. He smiles and steps to her, hugging her tight and remembering what it was like to hug her at two, at four, at the funeral. After that, John stopped going to see Ellen, and really, Dean can’t blame him. Ellen was the living reminder that Mary was dead. They all were. “How have you been?” she asks when they pull apart, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d think she was just making small talk, being polite. However, she has a glint of concern in her eyes, and when he shifts his eyes to the others, he sees them watching him. 

      “I’m fine,” he tells her, he tells them. He offers them all a smile before backing away and sitting at the table. Her smile stays in place, but so does the glint in her eyes. “Really,” he assures, but no one looks any more convinced. He sighs and looks away. He misses Cas.

      _It has been three days since Dean has seen Cas. Not that he’d ever admit that he minds. No, he is Dean Fucking Winchester. He doesn’t care if Cas doesn’t want to talk to him ever again. Nope, not at all._

      _Guess again. It has been three days since Dean has seen Cas, and he leaves his window open every night hoping Cas will crawl through and refuse to be ignored. Dean knows he could just call him, but he'd been an asshole to Cas and made it very clear that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. Dean and his pride are too heavy now to go crawling back. It makes Dean sick with anxiety. He just wants his best friend back._

      “Sam, give it back!” Jo shouts, startling Dean out of his thoughts. He looks around, a bit confused. He’s been losing himself to these memories more and more, even so, he doesn’t mind. They’re all he has of Cas at the moment. 

      “It’s mine!” Sam shouts, and Dean can tell by the twerp’s face that he is merely teasing little Jo. The pen he is holding over her head probably _is_ hers, but Sam likes having someone only a few years younger here to play with and bother. 

      “Sam, give Jo back her pen,” Dean says, watching in amusement as Sam sticks his tongue out and Jo blushes ten shades of red at her crush standing up for her. 

      “Thanks, Dean,” she murmurs as Sam hands her the pen back. 

      “Sure thing, kiddo,” he replies with an easy smile. They fall into the seats around him, and soon enough, they are being joined by Ellen and Bobby, bowls of steaming vegetables and plates of perfectly charred meats. Dean isn't there though. He's once again in his head with Cas.

      _It has been three days, and four, and five and six and seven and a never ending scream that only Dean can hear. They’ve never been away from each other for this long, never been without contact for more than an hour or so. Dean is fine. He’s got friends other than Cas. He’s got Benny and Kevin and Garth, and it doesn’t make him even a little sad to see Cas sitting alone at the table that used to be_ theirs. 

      _It doesn’t make him even a little sad when he makes a joke and looks over to get validation from Cas and sees nothing but air. It doesn’t make him sad. Nope, not at all. It’s Cas’ fault anyway. If he had just told Dean that he was gay and that Uriel had beaten him up for it, they wouldn’t be sitting at separate tables, angry with each other._

      _Dean sighs, eyes still on Cas sitting alone, book open in his hands. Kevin and Garth are arguing over the latest Marvel movie and Benny puts his two cents in when they ask, but they leave Dean to stare at Cas until he can take it no longer. He stands abruptly, unknowing whether he’s going to run to Cas or run home. Dean, as he ends up standing over his best friend, thinks it’s really the same thing._

      _“Hey, Cas,” he whispers, and he’s lucky to even get that much out. Cas looks up from his book, clearly startled, clearly not expecting to see Dean standing over him._

      _“Dean,” he breathes, obvious relief in his voice as he puts a marker in his book and stands, even though Dean had been moving to sit. When Cas stands, they are eye to eye and the only people in the world. “I thought you were never going to talk to me again,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face._

      _“No. We_ need _to talk,” Dean says, still staring at Cas over the table. The smiles slips off Cas’ face._

      _“Are you sure we can’t just pretend I never said anything?” Cas asks, sitting down slowly and letting his eyes slip away from Dean._

      _“Yes, I’m sure.” Dean sits and clasps his hands before him. Cas stares at his fingers while Dean stares at Cas, and all in all, they are both all the happier for it._

      _“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Cas says finally, and Dean sighs._

      _“Cas, I don’t care that you like dudes, okay? I really,_ really _don’t. I just wish you had told me sooner. Maybe I could have helped. I don’t like the idea of you getting hurt when I could have stopped it.”_

      _“You didn’t know, Dean. It’s not your fault.”_

      _“That’s my point, Cas. I didn’t know, and that hurts.”_

      _“I didn’t mean,” Cas starts, finally bringing his eyes up to Dean, but Dean cuts him off gently._

      _“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, it’s just…you’re my best friend in the whole world. I tell you everything, and the fact that you feel like you can’t trust me…it sucks. And more than the fact that you felt you couldn’t tell me, you felt if you did, I would stop talking to you.”_

      _“Well, in all fairness, you_ did _stop talking to me,” Cas points out, but his eyes are downcast because he knows Dean is right._

      _“I didn’t stop talking to you because you like guys though. I needed space to figure out what it means that you don’t trust me.”_

      _“You have to understand, Dean. The first thing I ever heard your father say was for you to stop holding hands with me because that was ‘fucking queer.’ I just didn’t want you to react the same way.”_

      _“I’m not my dad, Cas,” Dean says softly, dropping his eyes to his hands._

      _“I know, and I’m sorry…I just got scared.”_

      _“God, don’t ever be so stupid again,” Dean says, but there’s no malice in his words._

      _“It’s not stupid to be afraid of your best friend hating you,” Cas defends softly, and Dean rolls his eyes._

      _“It_ is _stupid because it’s us, you and me, Dean and Cas, because you should know you’re someone I could never,_ ever _hate.” Cas finally brings his eyes up to Dean, all wide and blue and shocked, like he expected Dean to one day up and run._

      _“Really?” he asks, and Dean nods._

      _“You’re my best friend,” Dean says, and that is explanation enough._

      Dean blinks and finds himself staring into Ellen’s eyes, her lips quirked up in a confused grin. He realizes she has probably been speaking to him for quite a while. He clears his throat and looks around the table. The rest of the dinner party has eyes on him also.

      “You okay, Dean?” Ellen asks, and Dean can only nod. He takes a bite of the food he must have served himself on autopilot and forces a smile. He’s sure it looks sarcastic and biting, but there isn’t much he can do about that fact. He eats the rest of his dinner in silence, listening as Sam tells Ellen about his amazing grades, his amazing girlfriend, his amazing life. He’s proud of his little brother, proud that he’s been able to find the happiness that life found it hysterical to rip away from him…

      Dean needs to hear from Cas. He needs to hear that voice and see those eyes and know that this silence is not by choice. It’s driving him crazy. It’s making that terrible little voice in the back of his head laugh that Cas doesn’t want him anymore, laugh that the best relationship of his life is over. He eats slower after that, sure that any sudden movement will send his already rolling stomach protesting into sickness.

      When dinner is over, small talk and conversation has passed, Dean silently begins taking plates to the kitchen, ignoring the stares of those around him because, fuck them, and he cleans. In all reality, he needs something to do, something to keep his hands and mind busy from this hell. He just wishes he had chosen vacuuming or some shit because dishes always remind him of Cas.

      _They are seventeen, and they are In Love._

      _“It’s raining diamonds,” Dean whispers, sitting in the windowsill and watching the rain fall down outside. Cas sits behind him, arms wrapped low around Dean's waist and chin resting on his shoulder._

      _“That’s hail, you idiot,” he whispers, squeezing Dean tighter to him. Dean smiles._

      _“Must be your eyes I’m thinking about,” Dean says softly, turning his head so that his cheek brushes Cas’ nose. He can feel the smile against his neck._

      _“You’re a poet,” Cas says, leaning forward and kissing Dean’s cheek._

      _“I’m a hungry poet,” Dean agrees, leaning back into his boyfriend’s laughter._

      _“I’ll make you some pancakes,” Cas says, beginning to move away, but Dean groans and leans back into him, holding Cas’ arms tight around his waist._

      _“Don’t go,” Dean moans, and Cas laughs._

      _“I’ll come back,” he promises, but Dean only holds him tighter._

      _“Promise?” he asks, and Cas hums in Dean’s ear._

      _“Always,” Cas whispers, so Dean lets him go. He turns away from the falling skies to watch his vision in boxer briefs make his way into the kitchen, humming under his breath some song that Dean has been singing for days. His hair is a mess and his neck is covered in hickeys and he has never looked better to Dean. He’s dancing around in the kitchen with one sock missing and a bowl of pancake batter in hand and Dean’s whole world is moving in slow motion. He sees this instant, and he sees the next. He sees Cas’ swaying hips and his opened mouth and he sees eternity laid out before him._

      _“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls, a smile on his face. Cas turns, shoulders still shifting through the batter he makes. Cas’ mouth is open a bit, eyes alight because he’s looking at Dean. “I love you,” Dean says with a smile. Cas’ grin doubles as he puts the pancake batter to the side. He steps closer to Dean, hands outstretched and reaching._

      _“I love you too, Dean,” Cas murmurs, running his fingers through Dean’s hair, brushing his hands over his lips. “And I hope you know you’re going to do dishes when I’m done,” he teases, kissing Dean softly. So Cas cooks the pancakes and Dean eats them and then they do the dishes together, laughing and splashing and kissing._

      Now, Dean does the dishes in silence, trying not to remember that afternoon, because Cas isn’t here and it hurts. Eventually, a presence behind him makes herself known. Ellen doesn’t say anything, merely starts picking up the dishes Dean sets down and rinses them. They work in silence for a long while, the quiet pressing down around Dean until he can’t stand it.

      “Just say it, Ellen,” Dean mutters finally, unable to look at her.

      “Say what?” Ellen says, rinsing her hands and drying them on a limp dish towel.

      “Whatever you’ve been wanting to say to me. I can practically hear your thoughts yelling at me.”

      “I’m not yelling at you,” she says in a voice that is very admittedly not a yell.

      “Then what’s the problem?” Dean asks, tossing the sponge in the water, splashing them both with the dirty, soapy water.

      “You stop your temper tantrum,” she says sternly, brushing the water off of her arms before she speaks again but softer. “Sam’s been telling me that you aren’t doing so great without Cas.”

      “There it is,” Dean groans, bracing his arms against the sink and hanging his head. Dean jumps at the hand Ellen presses between his shoulders.

      “It’s okay to miss him, sweetheart. He was your best friend.”

      “No one told you?” Dean asks, looking back at her over his shoulder. “I love him,” he says, scoffing and hanging his head lower.

      “Of course you love him,” she says, rubbing small circles into his back. “You always have.”

      “No, I’m _in love_ with him,” he clarifies, because it’s important that she know.

      “I know that too. I’ve known since you were ten and Jo tried to kiss Cas. You freaked out, screaming that he wasn’t hers to kiss.” Dean smiles softly. He had been mad that day, that’s for sure.

      “Then why did you say he was my best friend?”

      “He is, isn’t he? First and foremost.”

      “Yes,” Dean agrees, peeking up at her from the corner of his eye.

      “Listen, Dean,” Ellen says, brushing her fingers back through his hair. “I know you love him, and I know he’s your best friend, but son, your family needs you. Your Uncle Bobby needs you to get your head back on your schoolwork. Sam needs you to see him when you look at him.”

      “I see him,” Dean mutters defensively, but he knows she’s right.

      “I’m just saying, kid. Cas loves you too, and he’ll still love you when he comes back. I’ve never seen anything like it, what you two have. Some stupid clinic isn’t going to change who he is, how he feels.” She offers Dean a smile, and when he looks up from his reflection in the dirty water, he smiles back at her.

      “Thanks, Ellen,” he whispers, straightening up and kissing her cheek. She’d gotten it right, too. Dean’s scared that when Cas comes back, he won’t be the same. He’s scared that, despite loving Cas with every ounce of his being, it won’t be enough because it never has been before.

      “I always did like Cas,” Ellen says absently, turning back to the dishes and drying them slowly. “I always knew you would realize eventually that the girls you were dating were nothing compared to him.”

      “Is that why you never liked any of my girlfriends?” Dean asks, turning his head to her curiously. The thought had never occurred to him.

      “Yup,” she says, putting a bowl away and turning to Dean with a wink.

      “Huh…I just always thought it was because of Jo’s crush on me,” he says thoughtfully, passing her another dish to be dried and put away.

      “Are you kidding? You touch my daughter, and I’ll saw your jewels off with a butter knife,” she says, picking one up and pointing its blunt end at his testicles. He gulps.

      “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says holding his dripping hands up in surrender. Ellen smiles and puts the butter knife away, patting his chest sweetly.

      “Good. Now, how about we finish these dishes and start a pie for dessert?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! First, thanks for reading! 
> 
> Second, I felt compelled to mention that I have never been to a clinic even remotely similar to the one Cas is in. I wanted to mention that because, while I absolutely in no way agree with trying to forcibly change someone's sexuality, I'm like 85% certain that the way they treat their patients is not halfas bad as how Naomi is treating hers. This is a purely fictional scenario that I am bending endlessly to my will. 
> 
> Okay. Anyways. I'd love to know what you guys thought of hearing old Deany's perspective on all this. Lots of love!


	4. Chapter 4

     The morning wakes Dean by Sam tugging on his blankets. Dean sits up groggily, pulls his headphones off slowly, glares at the sleep-dulled speaker before him, and grunts. Sam rolls his eyes and repeats himself. 

     “Dean, it’s nearly noon. You said you’d take me and Jess to the park.” Dean groans, and rolls over, tossing his headphones to the side. 

     “Five more minutes,” Dean mumbles, pressing his face back into the pillow. He was dreaming of Cas, as he often is. He was dreaming of a beach and Cas laid out next to him, skin shining in the sun. He was dreaming of sand and waves and the smell of salt in the air. He was dreaming of lazy kisses and no one to tell him he’s wrong for loving Cas. 

     “Come on, Dean,” Sam whines, so Dean throws a pillow at him. 

     “I said five more minutes, bitch,” Dean growls, but there’s no real malice in his voice. Sam’s not the one he’s angry with. It’s God. Even so, Sam calls him a jerk and lets him lie there in bed for five more minutes before he comes back in and wakes him. “Fine,” Dean moans and sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before standing and getting dressed. He meets Sam downstairs a few moments later with his boots tied and his veins in desperate need of the song of coffee. “Let me get some caffeine and we’ll go,” Dean promises, reaching for the pot and a mug. 

     “Fine,” Sam mutters, plonking down at the table and crossing his arms. 

     “What’s up your butt?” Dean asks, pausing in filling his mug to turn and look at Sam. Sam shrugs sullenly, shaggy hair falling into his face. “Come on, Sam. I’m your big brother. Talk to me,” Dean says, pushing Sam’s shoulder lightly. Sam moves away from the touch, but Dean’s big brother instincts are telling him that he’s not just being a sullen ass. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam says nothing for a long while, so Dean sits just as stubbornly, his arms crossed and coffee forgotten.

     “It’s just…” Sam starts finally, tossing his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t fit in here, with my friends, with Jess. They’re all so cool and funny and they know what they’re going to do with their lives…and I’m just here…taking up space.”

     “Sammy, what,” Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off. 

     “And you, you’re so smart and everyone loves you, and I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to finish high school.” Sam hangs his head, clearly defeated, but if he’s not willing to fight, God knows Dean will fight for him.

     “Sam, you are the smartest kid I know,” Dean starts again, and again, Sam cuts him off.

     “Book smart, maybe,” he mutters, so Dean claps a hand over Sam’s mouth. 

     “Shut up. You’re book smart and street smart and every other fucking kind of smart there is. And who the hell cares if you don’t know what you’re going to do with your life? You’re thirteen! You’ve got the rest of your life to figure out what you want to do with it. _I_ know what you’re going to do with it. You’re going to finish high school, and go to college and be whatever the fuck you want to be.” Sam opens his mouth beneath Dean’s hand, but Dean only presses tighter against his lips. “What do you mean you don’t fit in with your friends? They love you. They fall all over themselves to hang out with you. And Jess? That girl is head over heels for you! How do you not see that?” Sam pushes Dean’s hand away and this time, Dean lets him. 

     “I’m not like them, Dean! My family is so fucked up, I don’t know how I’ll ever be like them!” Sam screams, tears filling his eyes. 

     “Hey, you’ve got a family that loves you. I love you. Bobby loves you. Ellen loves you.”

     “Not you guys. Dad.”

     “You’re gonna let _him_ decide who you are? _Dad?_ He’s not here to control you anymore, Sammy. And even if you _are_ never like the rest, who cares? They’re probably all would-you-like-tea-with-your-crumpets, lame asses anyway!

      _“I_ care, Dean! That’s the whole point! I’m tired of going to school and not being able to stay awake in class because of the nightmares! I’m tired of the bruises and of the questions and of people asking why I never have friends over! Do you know why I don’t? Because I’m scared that one day Dad will come barreling back in here and snatch us away and the nightmares will become reality again! I’m tired of people asking why I never go to sleep overs, and do you know why I don’t? Because I can’t sleep through the night without waking up seeing you and everyone I _love_ , dead on the floor because Dad took it a step too far! I’m sick of this, Dean! I’m not like them, and I don’t want to do it anymore!” Sudden silence, the only sound being Sam's heaving breaths.

     “Do what?” Dean asks quietly after an eternity has passed, but he knows the answer. He’s known the answer since he was ten and felt it himself.

     “Live,” Sam murmurs, and with that single word, Dean’s whole world cracks at the edges, crumbling to dust in the light of his baby brother, the last thing he’s got left in the world, wishing he were dead. 

     “Sam,” Dean starts, tears in his eyes as he reaches out for his brother. Sam jerks away, and the ache in Dean’s chest deepens. 

     “It’s fine…It’s not like I’m going to kill myself or anything. I just…I’m so tired, Dean.” Sam finally looks up at Dean, his eyes full of hurt and the weariness he was just speaking of. 

     “I know you are, Sammy,” Dean says softly, chewing on his lip before continuing. “But listen, you’re my kid brother, and I’ll do whatever you need to help. I’ll stand guard by your door at night if you want. I’ll go to all your parties and act super lame so no one even notices how lame _you_ are.” Sam snorts, a smile barely appearing on his face that Dean counts as a small victory before he’s continuing seriously. “I can promise you, Sammy, that, as long as me and Bobby are around, Dad will never lay a finger on you again. You don’t ever even have to see him again if you don’t want.”

     “I do want to see him again,” Sam says sadly, dropping his eyes yet again. “He’s still my dad. I just wish he didn’t suck so much…” 

     “Me too, kid,” Dean says honestly. They sit in silence for a long while staring at each other and the walls before the phone rings between them. Dean reaches out for it, Sam mumbling over the ringing. 

     “It’s probably Jess wondering where we are,” he says, and sure enough, when he flips the phone over, Jessica Moore is on the caller ID. 

     “You want to talk to her?” Dean asks, holding the phone out, but Sam shakes his head softly. “Hey, Jessica,” Dean answers, forcing his voice to sound bright. 

     “Hey, Dean. Is Sam there?” she asks, and Dean, eyes on his little brother, keeps his voice light as he responds.

     “Yeah, I’ve got a major hangover, so he went find me some Tylenol, the sweetheart,” he says, winking at Sam when the blush rises on his cheeks. 

     “You really should slow down on the alcohol, Dean,” Jess says teasingly. “You only have one liver, you know.” 

     “Yeah, but it regenerates, so maybe I’ll survive,” Dean says with a grin, and Jessica laughs. “We’ll head your way in just a few minutes,” he tells her, so they say their goodbyes, and Dean tosses the phone back to Sam. “You up for seeing her?” he asks softly, the light tone in his voice gone now that it is just he and his brother again. 

     “She makes it better,” Sam says, eyes on his hands. “I’ll be ready to talk to her by the time we get there,” and sure enough, by the time Dean has filled his mug with coffee, borrowed the keys to Bobby’s truck, and driven the long and snowy roads through their hometown to Jessica’s, Sam’s mood-o-meter has almost refilled, even going so far as to pull a bitchface when Dean cranks the music to max volume. 

     When they pull up beside the quaint little house fit for a white picket fence, Sam jumps out of the car and bounds up the steps. Dean turns the volume down so they don’t get a noise complaint called on them, and watches as Sammy raps against the door with his knuckles. Jessica comes out a few minutes later in a thick, white sweater, hair twisted back but falling into her face. She grins at Sam like he hung the moon, and Dean quietly loves her for that. It reminds him of the way he’d seen Cas look at him so many times, even as kids. 

      _They are in that short stretch of time when Dean is ten and Cas is nine, and Bobby has just helped them put down the last slab of wood to complete their treehouse. They usher him out immediately, and Bobby knows when he’s not wanted. Even so, they scream their thanks as he gathers up his tools and leaves them to their new play fort. The two were determined to build it themselves, but when he had to drive Dean to the emergency room after falling through the poorly made floor, Bobby deemed that their treehouse would be adult supervised or not at all. So they had begrudgingly accepted his help, and really, it made the place better._

      _Dean stands on their little balcony, hands on his hips and surveying all the land he and Cas have conquered. They have a stream just deep enough to wade in and a stretch of trees with branches low enough to climb on. He thinks they have done well. Cas is inside admiring the softness of the sanded boards and the smell of fresh cut pine._

      _“I love our little treehouse,” Cas says quietly, so Dean turns away from the world at his fingertips to look at Cas. Cas is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, running his fingers over the seams in the wood with a smile on his face. Dean sits beside him and looks around. It’s not much. An eight-by-eight room with a window, a door, and a hole in the floor to crawl down. It’s bare, but in Dean’s mind, there will be beanbag chairs and Christmas light illumination. There will be a rug and a TV and the coolest video game system ever invented. He doesn’t know that years later, he will get his beanbags, ditch the Christmas lights, buy a rug, and realize that a lone extension cord cannot power a TV, the coolest video game system ever invented,_ and _the fan that they desperately need to keep cool in the summer. Even so, Dean loves their little treehouse too._

      _“It’s gonna be the coolest place ever,” Dean agrees, a gap toothed grin on his face. Cas looks up from the floor to smile at his best friend, eyes soft and mushy because Dean is his best friend in the whole world. “And it’s just ours. We don’t have to share it with anyone! Except maybe Sammy when he gets bigger. Well, we don’t have to share it with anyone we don’t want to. It can be our secret place.” Dean grins again, and Cas’ eyes sparkle._

      _“Our secret place. I like it,” Cas says with a smile. Dean grins and looks around their treehouse. “I’m glad you’re my best friend,” Cas says softly, looking at Dean with wide blue eyes._

      _“Me too, Cas,” Dean says, flashing that gap toothed smile again._

     “Hey, Dean,” a chipper voice says. Dean looks up from his memory to see Sam holding the door open for Jess, her eyes sparkling. 

     “Hey Jessie,” Dean says with a grin, savoring the eye roll Jess gives at the nickname. The couple crawls into the truck together, Jess worrying her scarf before settling. Dean watches the blush creep across Sam’s cheeks as he takes her hand. He wonders how long he’ll blush when he touches her, and he hopes it’s a long time. He wants his little brother to keep this wonderment. God knows he always felt the heat when Cas touched him, be it the brush of their hands or something more… _fun._

      _They are seventeen in the light of the morning, sun barely peeking through curtains Cas has drawn tight. It is one of many in a string of lazy mornings spent in each other’s bed. Anna is staying at Rachel’s, Gabe is at school, and Ms. Milton is, ironically enough, on a church mission trip to “save the gays”. They are alone, and the sun is barely peeking through the curtains. When Dean wakes up, Cas is brushing his fingers over Dean’s face, connecting the galaxies between his freckles with the touch of his hand._

      _“Good morning,” Cas whispers, leaning forward to kiss Dean’s nose. Dean moves into the touch and smiles, his cheeks heating at the attention._

      _“Morning, Cas,” Dean murmurs, closing his eyes back against the night._

      _“Did you sleep well?” Cas asks quietly, his lips brushing Dean’s nose with every movement._

      _“I had you here, didn’t I?” Dean says, smiling with his eyes shut._

      _“Mmm,” Cas agrees, moving closer to Dean and tucking himself under Dean’s chin. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders and holds him close, sleep threatening to drape over him again. He would too, if Cas didn’t start kissing him slowly, brushing his lips across Dean’s jaw, lips parted and leaving a hot trail against Dean’s neck. He groans softly, holding Cas tightly to him despite the half-hearted dissentions. “You love it,” Cas murmurs, sucking into Dean’s collarbone. Dean groans and pulls Cas’ mouth away from his neck and attaches it to his own._

      _They lie there kissing for a while until Dean decides that, while kissing is nice, he was so rudely awoken by adorable caressing and then teased away from sleep by incessant neck fondling. He deserves_ at least _a little hand job. So he brushes his fingers down and down and down until he’s brushing against Cas’ bare hipbones._

_“Mmm, Dean, you just woke up,” Cas groans softly, grinning into Dean’s mouth. Dean moves to nip at Cas’ jaw, licking against the stubble he finds there._

      _“Yeah, what’s your point?” Dean asks playfully, rolling them so Cas is rightfully pinned beneath the hard line of Dean’s body._

      _“So, you have morning breath,” Cas says with a grin, leaning up to kiss Dean._

      _“Ouch, watch where you’re aiming, baby, that was my pride,” Dean teases, bringing a hand up to cover his heart._

      _“Who_ are _you?” Cas asks, leaning up to kiss Dean again._

      _“I’m Dean Friggin Winchester,” Dean says, bouncing atop Cas with every word._

      _“You’re a dork is what you are,” Cas corrects, grinning up to Dean._

      _“Shower sex?” Dean asks with a smile, and Cas rolls his eyes._

      _“I don’t know, Dean. Shower sex is pretty complicated,” he says teasingly, so Dean runs the flat of his hand from Cas’ sternum straight down beneath his sweatpants to his half-hard dick._

      _“You seem interested,” Dean murmurs, leaning close and licking across Cas’ neck. In the meantime, his hand closes around the base of Cas’ cock, drawing a gasp out of Cas as he tugs him slow and tight. “I’ll let you top,” Dean murmurs, leaning down and flicking his tongue against Cas’ nipples, tightening his grip around Cas’ rapidly hardening dick._

      _“Fuck,” Cas hisses, arching up beneath Dean’s hand. Dean grins and licks into his opened mouth, swallowing the gasp with delight._

      _“I’m so much tighter than this,” Dean mutters into Cas’ opened mouth. “And hot, Cas, I’m so fucking hot for you.”_

      _“On second thought,” Cas gasps, tearing away from Dean’s mouth with his pupils blown wide and lips turning delightfully pink. “Shower sex sounds fantastic.”_

      _“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” Dean growls, tugging on Cas for another moment before planting a softer kiss against his lips and letting go, reveling in the way Cas practically falls back into the bed. Dean scoots to the edge and pulls his bag from underneath, grappling blindly in the mess of clothes to find the thick lube he had the foresight to bring. Dean watches from the corner of his eye as Cas crawls out of bed and heads towards the bathroom. He watches the sway of his ass with a hungry delight._

      _When Dean finds the lube and condom, he joins Cas in the bathroom, watching him from behind the cloudy glass of the shower door for just a moment. Cas really is beautiful, from every dimple in his perfectly sculpted back to every ripple of his perfectly made muscles. Dean has spent many nights kissing his way down those dimples, licking into them and sucking them inside out, especially favoring the ones right at the base of Cas’ spine._

      _Dean watches the arch of Cas’ back as he rubs his hair into a lather, then he pushes the shower door aside and steps in, setting the lube and condom on the soap rack. His hands are stretching for Cas before he can think twice, landing on his hips that are slick with the soap running down from his hair. Dean pulls him to his chest, running his hands down the very dimples he had been worshiping just moments before. Cas hums contentedly, hands still twined in his hair and eyes closed calmly._

      _“Let me help,” Dean offers, running his palms around front and up Cas’ chest until they are joining the sudsy mess that is Cas’ hands. “Turn around,” Dean orders softly, and Cas obeys immediately, hands falling empty to his sides. Dean rubs the shampoo in, massaging lower and lower into Cas’ skull until he is rubbing the tight knots out of Cas’ neck. “You’re tense, babe,” Dean murmurs, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the knob at the top of Cas’ spine._

      _“I’m trying not to come untouched here, Dean,” Cas hisses tersely, earning himself a snort from Dean. He just works his fingers harder, pressing into the muscle with slow circles that get ever wider until he’s rubbing the knots from Cas’ broad and wonderful shoulders. When he feels Cas is appropriately relaxed, he slides his hands down his spine once again, fingers coming to rest again on the sharp cut of Cas’ hips._

      _“Rinse,” Dean commands softly, dropping silently to his knees as Cas turns back around, eyes landing immediately on Dean kneeling before him. Dean grins wickedly up at him, eyes shining as he blinks away the stray drops of water. “Go on,” Dean commands, gripping Cas’ dick, bringing his mouth closer and closer until his lips brush Cas’ head with his next word. “Rinse.” Cas lets out something between a scoff and a whine as he throws his head back into the spray and Dean’s lips close around his cock. He sucks the water-slicked cock into his mouth slowly at first, drawing a pained groan from Cas for every millimeter he adds to his mouth. Cas slaps a hand away from his hair into Dean’s, so Dean pulls off with a pop._

      _“No,” Dean chastises, trying to hide his grin at Cas’ whimper. “Rinse,” he says again, firmer, and this time, Cas obeys. He begins running his hands rapidly through his hair as if it will push the suds out faster, and Dean puts his mouth back on Cas’ dick, lapping gently at his already leaking head. Cas whines but, as far as Dean can tell, continues to rinse his hair._

      _“I’m done,” he gasps finally, both hands threading through Dean’s wet hair as he bring his hips closer to the heat of Dean’s mouth. Dean, however, pulls off slowly. He’s got a better idea to send Cas over the edge. Even so, Cas whines as Dean pulls off, trying to push his hips back into Dean’s mouth._

      _“Calm down, Cas,” Dean says with a grin, turning around and standing, brushing his ass against Cas’ cock on the way up. “Wash my back, will you, babe?” Dean asks, looking over his shoulder with feigned innocence. Cas groans but takes a cloth and lathers it with soap, rubbing it in slow circles over Dean’s shoulders, down his chest, around to the back, and dropping it lower and lower with every swipe. Eventually, the cloth gets dropped to the shower floor with a splash, and Cas’ fingers are sliding down the cleft of Dean’s ass. Dean presses down a hard swallow and braces his hands against the shower wall._

      _“You’re so beautiful, Dean,” Cas murmurs, bringing his lips close to Dean’s neck and brushing gently across it. Dean smiles softly, mouth falling open as Cas pressing the first finger in, just to the second knuckle. It’s not enough, so Dean spreads his legs wider and pushes back, but Cas is ready, pulling away two for every inch Dean pushes back. “No, no, you conned me into this shower sex, so we’re gonna do this my way, nice and slow.”_

      _Dean groans, and Cas makes damn good on his promise of slow, (Dean doesn’t see how he has the will for it, especially not with the fucking filth he’s drawing from between Dean’s lips) pushing into him slowly, stretching Dean against the burn and the heat and the ecstasy. Dean is a whimpering mess, pressing back against the single—single! It’s been an_ eternity, _the teasing bastard—finger Cas has inside him and begging for more. Cas presses the one finger in further, hooking it slightly to the side so that it brushes against the bundle of nerves inside Dean._

      _“Fuck, Cas,” Dean gasps, his head falling forward to the cool tile in hopes of calming down enough to make it to the actual sex part before blowing his load all over the shower floor. “Please, Cas, I need more,” he begs, so Cas complies, pressing another finger into the hole he is slowly working open. He exhales slowly, relaxing so Cas can get further in._

      _Then the fun really begins, fuck all that slow nonsense. Cas presses those two fingers deep inside Dean until he is nothing but the brush of his prostate and the stretch of his ass. Cas scissors him open viciously, twisting and pushing and insisting that Dean opens _then._ Dean recognizes with delight that the will of steel he was just cursing has finally snapped. Then Cas is adding another finger, and he forgets everything, his own name included. The third finger makes it almost possible to imagine that it’s Cas inside of him, especially when Cas is stretching out against him, lips panting heavily at Dean’s neck. Another brush of his prostate has him twitching and trying desperately not to come. _

      _“Fuck, Cas, I’m good. I’m good, Cas,” Dean insists, fumbling blindly for the lube and condom so he can get Cas inside of him right now. Cas slides his fingers out of Dean slowly, so Dean takes the moment of Cas sliding on the condom and lubing up to breathe, willing the heat in his stomach to unfurl so he can enjoy the sex with his boyfriend and_ not _come before he’s ready._

      _“Ready?” Cas asks finally, his fingers sliding down between Dean’s cheeks again to slick him up for Cas’ dick. Dean nods furiously, opening his eyes and reaching behind him. He hooks his hand on Cas’ neck and hauls him closer. Their mouths meet in a puff of steam and seeking tongues, and Cas swallows the gasp Dean lets out as his head passes the first ring of muscle._

      _Cas continues pushing in slowly, his tongue claiming Dean’s mouth until every inch of him is inside Dean. He moans at the fullness. Cas feels so fucking huge inside of him. Granted, he’s no slob outside of him; really, Cas has the perfect cock, thick and long but manageable. But inside of Dean…he feels like Cas is perfectly filling every absence he’s ever had in his life. He lets out a shaky breath, turning away from Cas’ mouth to brace his hands back against the wall. Cas takes that as his invitation to continue, and continue he does._

      _He pumps in and out of Dean, slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed until he is slamming into Dean, every thrust of his hips meeting the arch of Dean’s back. Cas has an arm slung low around Dean’s waist, keeping him close even on the pull of the push and pull they are doing. Dean leans forward, his head pressing back against the wall and changing the angle of Cas’ hips. He gasps as every thrust forward comes in contact with his prostate, sliding against it again and again until he’s crying out._

      _“Cas,” he moans, one hand coming from the wall to wrap around Cas’ fingers. “I’m gonna come,” he moans, but Cas merely presses an open mouthed kiss to his neck._

      _“Come for me, Dean,” Cas croons somewhat breathlessly, his hips slapping against Dean erratically, and who is Dean to disobey an order? He comes with a small cry, his orgasm splattering against the shower wall and sending his body into spasms. Cas follows close behind, slamming into Dean one final time before he feels the heat of Cas’ come even through the condom. “Shit,” Cas hisses as the orgasm washes over him. Dean huffs out a laugh, spent from his own orgasm. When the last of the waves wash over Cas, he pulls out of Dean gingerly, kissing him softly to make up for the emptiness inside of him. They finish their shower in easy kisses and soft words._

      Dean is cold when he opens his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason for the rape/non-con warning... Just thought I'd give you a bit of a heads up.

     Cas stares at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head and roommate otherwise occupied. Cas has been thinking of Dean, as he often is, but the nature of the thoughts are somewhat different than he’s used to. _What if they’re right?_ he’s thinking instead, watching the blades of the fan spin above him. _What if he never loved me?_ The thoughts are ringing and ominous in Cas' head.

     “Hey, Cas,” Charlie says, poking her head into the doorway. Cas looks from his spinning fan over to her, expecting to see the wide smile and bright eyes he’s used to. Instead, he sees a small frown and sadness. 

     “What’s up, Charlie?” Cas asks, sitting up and watching her with concerned eyes. She shifts slightly, moving so Cas can see her whole body in the frame of the door, from her double-knotted shoes to the bag slung over her shoulder. 

     “It’s time for me to blow this popsicle stand,” she says softly with a shrug. Cas watches her with wide eyes, watching as she hikes her bag higher on her shoulder and steps inside. “Dorothy’s done here, and I gotta get back to my girl.” 

     “Charlie, I can’t…” 

     “Cas,” she starts with a sigh, sliding her bag off her shoulder and sitting next to Cas on the bed. “You love Dean, don’t you?” she asks softly reaching out and taking his hands in hers. 

     “Yes,” he murmurs, because he does. He loves Dean more than ever…he’s just not sure if Dean still loves him. 

     “So hold on to that. You’re going to be fine without me, and if not, just give me a call." She smiles at him, all teeth and crinkled eyes before she pulls him close and buries herself in his neck. “Thanks for being awesome,” she whispers, and when she pulls away, he swears he sees tears in her smiling eyes. 

     “Charlie,” a voice says from the door, and Cas looks up to see the lady from the picture staring at Charlie with a smile. She is every bit as beautiful in person as she was in the photograph, her long, brown hair curling down to her waist and twisting back in a look he’s beginning to suspect is a habit of hers. 

     “Gilda, this is Cas,” Charlie says gently, standing and crossing the room to stand by Gilda. “He kept me sane.” Charlie looks between Gilda and Cas fondly, and something unfurls from his gut that feels like envy and disgust and darkness. 

     “Thank you,” Gilda says gently, reaching down and threading her fingers through Charlie’s. Cas forces a smile, that sick feeling in his gut never leaving. 

     “I guess I’d better go,” Charlie says finally, leaning down to pick her bag back up. “I just wanted to tell you goodbye…and thank you.” Cas keeps that forced smile until Charlie has disappeared down the hall, one hand threaded through Gilda’s and the other raising the bird up for all the disgusted workers to behold and get the fuck over. He wants to be proud of her, wants to cheer her on and shout her praises...but he can’t, not when all the while he's feeling that she is making a irreparable mistake by leaving. Cas sits on his bed for a long while, attempting to sort through the mess that is his feelings, and when he comes out on the other side, he has five things clear and straight in his mind. 

     1. He loves Dean.  
     2. It is wrong that he loves Dean.  
     3. Dean is forgetting about him, loving him less and less with each passing day.  
     4. When he returns, his old life will be over.  
     5. This clinic is the way to rebuild a new life. 

     And when he raises his eyes from his list, his heart beats in a steady and lilted cadence. His hands shake, but it does not matter. Charlie gone, Dean is gone, and the fight is over for him...

     Over the next week, he flies through the next two steps, confessing to his sins and a change of heart. He gets on his knees for someone other than Dean, folds his hands before him, and confesses to his every sin, to loving Dean. He confesses to the sex and the gentleness of it all, confesses to how much he loved loving Dean, and kneeling there in that make-shift chapel in the middle of that God-forsaken clinic, something in Cas snaps. He thinks of his every moment with Dean, the sloppy kisses and the boisterous laughter, the soft words and the rough touches. He thinks of Dean with those smiling green eyes and freckles that outline the world; he thinks that maybe Naomi was right. Maybe all that there ever was between them was lust and desire. Maybe he never loved Dean at all. 

     Kneeling there in that chapel, he becomes the mold of who these people have been trying to make him. Everything he’s worked for, everyone he’s ever wanted to be, slips away and he is left with Lucifier. He is left with Dorothy. He is left with Dick and Tessa and Hannah and Lilith and Demian and Barnes and every other patient who has been in and out of this clinic. Cas is gone. He isn’t the gay playwright in love with his best friend. Instead, he is left with Castiel, man on the mend from homosexuality, Christian, good. 

     He leaves that chapel a freed man. He goes to his room and throws away the letter to Dean he’d been working on before stalking back into the hallway, eyes set for Naomi. When he finds her flipping through notes she’d taken during her last session, she notices the change in him immediately. 

     “Accomplished step six, I see,” she says, closing the folders and threading her hands over the top of them. She offers him a smile that, to an outsider, would look sinister and scheming. To him, it just looks supportive. 

     “Yes. I’ve had a change of heart,” he says, smiling earnestly back at her. “I want to be better. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get better.” He smiles to her, Charlie’s warning about stage seven lying forgotten in the part of his mind that he has roped off, the part of his mind that still, and will always, love Dean. 

     “Wonderful. There’s someone I want you to meet, in that case.” Naomi smiles at Castiel again before picking up her phone and pressing a button, bringing it to her mouth. “April,” she says into the phone, her eyes never leaving Castiel's. "Can you come in here?” Naomi puts the phone down and keeps that smile trained on Castiel. A moment later, a knock on the door has them both turning, eyes landing on a soft smile and strawberry blonde hair. 

     “Hi,” she says, smiling at Castiel. 

     “Castiel, this is April Kelly, one of our stage seven operatives. April, can you please take Castiel to your office and explain what happens next?” So April offers Castiel a hand, the smile on her face when he takes it growing larger when she refuses to let it go. They make their way down the sterile hallways, Castiel’s anxiety rising higher and higher for every second she refuses to let go of his hand. When they stop at a door reading A. Kelly, Castiel’s panic shoots through the roof as he remembers Charlie’s words. _She said that they showed her that ‘sexual attractions were good for the body and the soul.’ They raped her, Cas._

     “What are you going to do?” Castiel asks, dread rising in him as he tries to back away, but April’s hand still holds tight to his wrist. She smiles back at him as she gets her ‘office’ open, all but shoving him inside when his knees lock in place. She locks the door behind them, and all Castiel can do is take in the cinderblock, windowless walls, the small desk and queen size bed filling the majority of the room. Castiel grapples with the door when he is given the chance, but it locks with a key, and April has it shashed away. She glides smoothly around the room, flicking off the lights and setting a flame to the many candles she has throughout the room. When she finishes, she approaches Castiel again, eyes hooded and lips parted slightly. 

     “Just relax,” she croons, reaching up her hands to shrug him out of his coat. It lands on the floor in a heap, and all at once, he is seeing Dean standing before him, those loving eyes never leaving his as he undresses him. Tears spring to Castiel’s eyes as April works the buttons down his chest. He can’t even fight back. She has his shirt on the floor and belt undone, fingers wiggling his zipper down before Castiel is able to connect his hands to his brain and get her the hell off him. Her hands are pinned to her sides before Castiel ever realizes he has reached out. Castiel’s eyes are stone; tears still line the dark lashes but they are stone nonetheless. 

     “Don’t touch me,” he growls, but April merely titters at him. 

     “Now, Cas, don’t be like that. If you won’t do it compliantly, I’ll have to bring in force,” she says, but Cas only clenches his jaw, refusing to let her do this to him. So she doesn't. Instead, she sighs and leans away, her arms still pinned to her sides by Castiel’s hands. “Alright,” she says, tossing her head slightly to clear the hair. Then she’s opening her mouth and screaming like _she’s_ the one being sexually assaulted.

     In seconds, fresh keys are jiggling open the lock while April continues to scream. When the door is open, two huge men step through, easily six foot five and three hundred pounds. They look to Castiel, see his incriminating position with April, and jerk him away from her, literally holding him off the ground as he flails and screams. Its useless though. With a mere, “make him cooperate,” from April, he is being stripped naked through his thrashing and thrown to the bed. When there, one of the goons holds his thrashing limbs while the other straps him down, one across the chest, one across the hips, one on each wrist and one around each ankle. By the time they leave the room, Castiel is naked and sobbing on the bed, his head thrashing wildly in his last ditch effort to fight.

      “Oh, calm down,” April says dismissively, reaching down and pulling her shirt over her head before unhooking her bra and tossing it to the side. Through his teary and panicked haze, Castiel sees big and pink nipples that are nothing like Dean’s sweet brown stumps. Castiel cries harder, fists clenching and unclenching rapidly in the sheets.

     “Please,” he begs, tossing his head this way and that. “Don’t do this.”

     “You're on step seven, Cassie,” she says, dropping her jeans and panties to the floor before crawling towards him. “This is what step seven is. You’ve humbly asked Him to remove your shortcomings, and here, that means you’ve asked Naomi to fix you. That’s why I’m here, to show you that straight sex is better, and _right_ , when compared with…well, sodomy.” She kneels over Castiel now, eyes hooded as tears stream down his face. 

      _I'm so sorry, Dean,_ he thinks, his heart slamming against his rib cage. He sees Dean watching him, heartbroken at what is being done to him, disgusted by what he is. _I'm so sorry._ Then her hand wraps around the base of his cock, squeezing it partially to life before she sucks it into her mouth, hitting the soft of her throat again and again until he’s fully hard. 

     Castiel hates himself. He hates his body for reacting to her; he hates his penis for thinking the pussy she sinks onto his dick is wet and tight and wonderful. He hates himself for the string of come he shoots into the condom she forced on him after a long while of her bumping and grinding. He lies there when she’s finished, arms stretched wide and sobs racking his body. April lays contentedly by his side, brushing soft fingers against his heaving chest until she decides she wants to speak. 

     “Cas,” she starts, rolling forward to look him in the eye. The sobbing has slowed to silent tears streaming down his face. He wants to wipe them away, but instead, he is forced to wallow in them. They hadn’t even given him the ability to wipe away his own tears. April reaches out and runs a palm through the shining trails before continuing her sentence. “Step seven is about helping you see that the natural way, man and woman, is flawless. It is how God intended sex go, and He made it so that it was fulfilling and enjoyable. Did that not feel _good_ , Castiel? In all senses of the word?” 

     Castiel says nothing…what is there to be said to that? It did feel good… It felt as good as sex with Dean, if not better. It felt honest. It felt like he wasn’t forced to hide because he was with another man. It also felt wrong. It felt like, despite everything, he still wants the big hands, the broad shoulders and the dick. It also felt dirty, and he, unlike Dorothy, comprehends enough to know that he was just raped. 

     “Do you want to do it again?” she asks, eyes bright and open. Castiel swallows thickly, his throat clenching shut. He hates himself for wanting to be better, for wanting to like women and pussy and _not_ Dean, but he does. He wants to be better, so he nods. April’s eyes light up, a grin covering the bottom of her face, and Castiel’s chest lurches. 

     “Please untie me,” Castiel says, tugging at his restraints in vain. April’s bright eyes narrow, her smile slipping slightly. 

     “You’re going to fight,” she says suspiciously, but Castiel shakes his head, hair flopping around in his efforts. 

     “No, no, please. I won’t.” The tears start back, and all at once, he remembers his panic attack at ten over cops and robbers with Dean. Dean had been the hero, as always, but Cas had been the bad guy he’d tied up instead of the partner who usually helped him. Cas had panicked and stopped breathing, and Dean had hugged him after he’d freed him, apologizing profusely again and again, refusing to relinquish his hold on Cas. Castiel swears Dean never really forgave himself for that. “Please, I won’t fight.” Castiel hiccups, tears falling as he tries to breathe around the restraints. The one around his breasts is the most problematic. It is constricting his lungs, confining his airways, closing his throat against the oxygen. His mind is attacking him, telling him that the straps are tighter than they are, that they are harming him more than containing him. “Please,” he gasps, tears falling down his face. April’s eyes narrow, but he is too focused on the air barely moving through his lungs to plead more. 

     “Fine,” she says, reaching up and unhooking his hand, moving to the next before peeling away the restraint on his chest. He sits up immediately, pinching his stomach on the hip restraint as he sucks in deep, full breaths. She watches him confusedly before undoing the rest of his restraints, ignoring the gulping, gasping breaths. Even so, he has to stave off the remainder of his panic attack before he can turn back to her. 

     She is watching him expectantly.

     His hands shake when he reaches out to touch her, but she still kisses him slowly, languidly even, compared to the insistent push of the first time. Castiel closes his eyes to her gray eyes because they are not candy apple green. He closes his eyes to her flower blossom scent, her small fingers, her smooth face. He just kisses her, bringing his hands to rest against the small of her back because it is the least offensive place he can find. 

     April still leads the show, but this time, Castiel finds that he is an active participant. She guides his hands where she wants them, namely, pulling against her nipples or slipping between her legs. Castiel can’t say that it doesn’t feel just as good as the first time when he reaches his orgasm, and this time, he feels cleaner because he asked for this. Castiel decides that he rather likes straight sex. 

     “So, that was okay?” April asks, holding the covers they are under close to her chest. 

     “Very much so,” Castiel says, and really, it was. He enjoyed her velvet skin and supple breasts. He enjoyed himself, and he feels good that he was able to. He didn’t want to be broken. He sees the shadow of Dean's hurt eyes in his mind. “Um…what I did…that was, uh, correct?” April laughs next to him.

     “Very much so,” she mimics softly, and Castiel believes that. She made faces and noises this time that she didn’t make last time, and Castiel, gay as he may have been, knows what an orgasm looks like. 

     “Good,” he says with a smile. April gives Castiel another smile before pushing herself away from him, leaving him lying there naked and alone. He stares after her for a long moment, watching the curve and sway of her walk as she makes her way to her desk. She dresses smoothly, never sparing Castiel another glance before she unlocks the door and leaves. Her smell is all over him, clinging to his skin in the way Dean always did. 

     He can’t say he does not sometimes miss the smell of Dean. He cannot say he doesn’t miss the smell of the grass and the smell of the sun, the smell of cheap detergent because it’s all Dean could afford, the smell of grease and pie after a long shift at Ellen’s. He cannot say he doesn’t miss the smell of dreams and hope that Dean held around him like an aura. Even so, Castiel wants to be better, and the smell of April against his chest, his cheek, his palm… well, it’s pretty damn great. 

     He shakes himself slightly, then moves for is clothes. He picks them up from their hastily discarded piles and begins putting them on, his limbs still buzzing from his time with April. When he is dressed, he leaves her ‘office’ and steps out into the hall. He smiles, because for once in his life, he feels good. He feels free. He feels like he isn’t broken or wrong or a disgrace to his family. 

     “Castiel,” he hears Naomi call as he passes her office. He pokes his head inside her door, only to see her smiling at him. “Step seven has been completed,” she says. “Are you ready to begin step eight?” Castiel nods, so she waves him forward to sit at her desk. “Step eight is to make a list of your trespasses, in other words, make a list of those you’ve harmed because of your sickness. Write them apologies. This step will take as much courage as your moral inventory, so be proactive about it.” Castiel nods, eyes wide as though he is taking in directions for making the perfect cheesy garlic biscuits. Naomi passes Castiel several sheets of paper and a pen to match. Castiel takes that as his cue to leave.

     When he gets back to his room, he finds Lucifer in their room, folded in his bed, dead to the world. Castiel rolls his eyes and sits at the little desk built into the wall, desk light turned on and pen in hand. He spends a long while staring at the paper, sifting through his emotions until he feels like he has words. He starts with his mother. 

      _Mom,_ he writes. _This is my apology to you. It is my apology for the GSA, for the play, for Uriel, and for Alfie. For Dean._

      _I’m sorry for lying to you. You asked why my nose was broken, why my lip was split, and I told you that I had fallen off my bike, that my face had smashed into the handlebars. Really, I got beaten up for kissing Uriel. Perhaps that should have been my warning. I’m sorry for stealing from you. Granted, it was five dollars for lunch and you willingly gave it, but I wasn’t going to_ Wiener Hut _for the hot dogs. I was going for Alfie. I kissed him too. Actually, I defiled him. I striped him bare and took him in my mouth, and I’m sorry for the five dollar that it cost you._

      _I’m sorry for hurting you, disappointing you, betraying you, and breaking your heart. This was for Dean. All of it was for Dean. He was bad from the start, and you always tried to make me see that. “That Winchester boy will rip everything from you,” you’d say. “He’ll make you lost,” and he did. When I first laid a hand on him in kindergarten, I was lost. He was just so addictive. I felt I needed him like a drug addict needs his next hit, like a smoker needs that cigarette. I felt I needed him as much as I needed the air in my lungs, and I would have done anything to have him. I hurt you to have him, mom, and I’m so sorry._

      _I know it hurt to see me with him. You raised me to be a good person, to act how God would want me to, and I let you down when I decided I’d have Dean over those values. There were a million times, a kiss and a touch and a whole life you never knew existed, whose very existence was a betrayal to you. I’m so sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for the pain and the stress and the worry it caused you. When you found us together, I could see your heart breaking in your eyes. I’m sorry for that. I saw in your eyes you holding me as a baby and wanting nothing but the best for me. I saw you love me through childhood and into adulthood and then I saw your heart break because you thought you failed. You didn’t fail. I did. I failed by loving Dean, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it. I am so unbelievably sorry._

      _I love you, Mom, and I want to thank you for doing this for me. I know it was a hard choice to make, but I thank you. I hope someday you’ll be able to forgive me for putting you through this. I’d take all the pain away if I knew how. If I could, I would turn back time and not kiss Uriel. I would not go to_ Wiener Hut. _I would stay the hell away from Dean Winchester. I’m sorry, Mom._

     Castiel sits back and stares at his words. His hand is cramped and his head is aching, but he still has a few letters to write. He goes next to Anna to apologize for staining her with his and Dean's relationship. Castiel writes a short apology for Gabe, much like the one he wrote for Anna despite the fact that Gabe likely does not know the extent of his and Dean’s relationship. He writes a short apology for Charlie, for enabling her, and one for Meg, for denying her. Then he stares down at the stack of letters in his hand, and he swallows down the feeling that he’s not yet done with his apologies. He dreads his last to write.

      _Dean,_ he writes. _This is my last apology to write. I have apologized to my mother, my sister, my brother, my new friend, and my old girlfriend, all for things that are your fault. I should be able to move on to the next step, but I know that I am not done. I owe you an apology as well, despite all the hell that lusting after you has put me through. That being said, this is my apology to you, and I’ll start at the beginning._

      _I’m sorry for saying you didn’t have a mom. I didn’t know what her memory meant to you. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for getting you in trouble with your father. It was innocent at the time. We were innocent. What happened to us, Dean? I’m so sorry for pulling you into this mess. You were good before I got to you. I ruined your life, Dean, and I’m so unbelievably sorry. _

     Castiel's vision blurs with tears, but his hand keeps moving of its own accord.

      _I’m sorry for putting you through the hell that comes with having a gay best friend. I’m sorry for writing that damn play in the first place. I’m sorry for kissing you, God, am I ever. If had put the date two days later so Benny could get better, the kiss would have stayed just a stage kiss. If I’d never written that play to begin with, you would never have kissed me, a boy, and you would still be the clean and amazing person you were before you liked boys. I’m so sorry that I did that to you. You cannot imagine the guilt I feel for forcing this sickness on you. I’m sorry for the strain I put on your life. I’m sorry for ruining your relationship with Lisa. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for defiling you and robbing you and loving you. It ruined you._

      _I’m sorry for the first kiss and I’m sorry for the last, the one that landed us here. I’m sorry for every single kiss in between too, but especially the last. I don’t know what happened to you, but if my mother kept her end of the deal, you’re safe. I hope you’re safe. But, God forbid you aren’t, I want to apologize for that too. I don’t even want to think about what would become of you. I'm sorry for risking your well-being, Sam's, all for this._

      _I want to apologize for everything that has happened between us. I need you to understand that I never loved you._ Cas blinks, startled. Tears line trails down his cheeks, but his eyes are wide. He...never loved Dean? Suddenly, everything clicks into place with a horrendous and crippling ache pulsing through his chest. He keeps writing, words ruthless and cold.

      _I’m not apologizing for that. I will never apologize for how I feel, but I will apologize for how my feelings affected you. I firmly believe that what you felt for me was just lust, but I knew you. I knew your habits and your quirks and I knew you were just as affected by me as I was by you. Looking back, it was all mindless sex, but I’m sorry for affecting you._

      _I never loved you, and I’m sorry. That’s all I was trying to say._

      _Goodbye, Dean. This is goodbye._


	6. Chapter 6

     The sun is cutting through the trees, lighting the world and the snow with the hues of the sun. Dean sits on a park bench, admittedly freezing his ass off. Even so, he won’t complain. Sam is out there rolling around with Jess, laughing like Dean hasn’t seen in weeks, and some part of him hurts at the sight. If he’d just paid a little more attention to Sam, watched how his smile never met his eyes, pulled his head out of his ass, he might have seen that Sam is hurting. Be that as it may, he hadn’t. He had been too busy moping about Cas to notice his little brother slipping into depression, and it hurts.

     “Hey,” Jess squeals, jerking him out of his thoughts as Sam comes up behind her and catches her around her waist. He is holding her with one arm while the other comes up and dumps a snowball into her hair. Jessica laughs as she shakes the snow of her.

     “You love me,” Sam mutters as he presses a kiss against her cheek. Jessica blushes and pushes him away, grinning all the while.

     “Shut up,” she says, but presses a return kiss against his cheek. He blushes just as profusely as Jess had, if not more, and she uses the distraction to smash a snowball into his face and run away. Dean smiles watching them. He misses Cas watching them.

     They stay in the park for another hour or so. The kids even manage to draw Dean into the snowball fight, Sam and Jess teaming up and pelting the spaced-out Dean into the war. He wins, judging by the soggy messes he returns to Jess’ house that are Jessica and Sam, and don’t you know he rubs it in, even as he tells Sam he’ll be back later to pick him up.

     Oddly enough, he is in high spirits as he makes his way back across town, radio blasting AC/DC at top volume. Needless to say, his spirits drop the instant he comes to that old familiar street. It is still missing its sign. It is an unnamed street so far as the world is concerned, a nonexistent road is nowhere, but to Dean, it’s the background for his whole life. Who can blame him for turning down into it?

     He comes to Cas’ house first, a perfect little house made of brick, mortar, and Saturday morning cartoons. The world moves in slow motion as he passes. He sees Cas hanging upside down from that tree in the front yard, going on excitedly about his aquarium. He sees them laying in Cas’ bed, hands tracing lazily across every inch of skin. He sees them laughing on the couch, kissing in the kitchen, fighting in the hallway. He sees Cas dribbling a soccer ball in the front yard, himself fielding ground balls in the back, and both of them heading to the others’ games before they both became too consumed with their lives for sports. He sees a smile and a laugh and a hug and a kiss and a bad memory to balance every good.

     Then he turns to the other side of the street, and he sees his own house. He sees a thousand afternoons hiding Sam from his father’s wrath, a billion moments pretending he was happy in this hell. He sees the liquor-stained carpets and the anger-cracked walls. He sees the bruises and the nights coming home only because Ellen refused to let him work after midnight. He sees tossing his own barely passing report cards, hanging Sam’s excelling grades, not that John cared either way. He sees himself getting lost in the mix and never taking his eyes off Sam long enough to notice.

     He sees Baby in the drive, and he has half a mind to keep driving, to mark this whole excursion down as a big mistake and get the hell outta dodge. Then he sees that little window, the one that is still unlocked for Cas, and he knows that if he doesn’t go now and face that house, he never will. His father’s truck isn’t there, meaning _he_ isn’t there…what could it hurt?

     He parks next to Baby, and the first thing he does is run his hands over her glossy black paint. He sees the army men in the ashtray, the Lego’s in the vents. He sees S.W., he sees D.W., and he sees every moment in between. He sees the drive from Double Springs to Sceadan, cramped in the back between hastily-packed boxes and a car seat. He sees his father’s tear-stricken face, and he sees baby Sammy oblivious and asleep. He sees his whole life in a rear-view mirror and the house before him.

     Dean doesn’t have a key anymore—his copy is still wrapped up in Baby's key ring—so he climbs in through the window he didn’t have the time or inclination to lock before he left. It doesn’t seem as high at seventeen as it did as seven, but he still lands on the other side with a hard thud. When he straightens, he sees his desk, covered and dusty, his bed, ruffled and empty. The room smells like him, and along side him, Cas.

      _There is a mile of flesh pressed against him, Cas snoring slightly, head pressed straight over Dean’s heart. Dean is awake, running his hands gently across Cas' back, rubbing his cheek against the mop of hair, and loving every second of it._ This is what I live for, _he thinks happily._ Lazy mornings in bed with Him. _Cas grunts slightly, having obviously been awoken by the touch of Dean's hands against his back._

      _“Good morning,” Dean murmurs, nosing into Cas’ hair. Cas grunts again, his arms tightening around Dean’s middle._

      _“You smell good,” Cas grumbles, burrowing closer to Dean despite the irritation in his voice._

      _“Thanks,” Dean laughs, still rubbing those circles in Cas’ back._

      _“You’re also warm,” Cas grunts, squeezing Dean even tighter, and Dean squeezes back._

      _“I don’t know why. You stole all the covers last night,” Dean quips softly, pinching the layer of skin over Cas’ ribs playfully. Cas jerks, his head flying from beneath Dean’s chin to glare at him. His lips are trembling in the effort it takes not to smile._

      _“Maybe I wouldn’t have if you would have stayed on your side,” Cas retorts, and he is right. The bed beneath them is a queen, and they are both curled clearly on Cas’ side._

      _“Maybe I would have if you hadn’t stolen the covers,” Dean replies, giving them a jerk just for the fun of it. Cas sticks his tongue out, and Dean leans forward and kisses him, morning breath and all. Cas’ rigid posture melts away, and they fall back into the bed to start their morning the way they ended the night before._

      _Forty minutes and mutual blow jobs later, they leave Dean’s room to brave the world. John is gone, probably off to the job he can barely hold down or passed out somewhere along the way. Sam, however, Sam is already up, bouncing around in the kitchen with pancakes half-burning on the stove while he scrambles eggs._

      _“Wow, I thought I went to bed at home, not a bed and breakfast,” he says, voice directed at his little brother. Sam jumps a bit but doesn’t turn around. He has his hands full._

      _“Shut up, Dean,” he grumbles, and Dean laughs, pressing a quick kiss to Cas’ cheek before going to rescue the ungrateful little twerp and the pancakes that are just a bit too cooked. Dean bumps Sam away from the stove and to the bar, taking over his place easily as he flips the bacon, turns the heat down on the eggs, and starts in on a new batch of pancakes._

      _“What’s all this for?” Dean asks after a while, glancing to look at Sam between flipping and scrambling._

      _“Jess is on her way over,” Sam says shyly, and Dean smiles._

      _“Well, you can take credit for my_ perfect _pancakes,” Dean says, dropping the soft smile for a superior grin as he slides a stack of pretty damn amazing pancakes onto a plate at the bar for the world to marvel at. Sam rolls his eyes, and Cas takes a piece of bacon from the plate. Dean doesn’t know what he was expecting really, but he still turns back to get the rest of breakfast with a huff and a grumble._

      _“Oh, Dean, sugar plum, light of my life, your pancakes are beautiful,” Cas says dramatically, standing and crossing the small kitchen to wrap his arms around Dean. Cas presses a bacon-greased kiss against Dean’s cheek, and Dean grumbles to cover his blush. A knock sounds at the door, and Cas pulls away from Dean with a soft smile._

      _“I bet that’s Jess,” Sam says excitedly and runs for the door. Both Cas and Dean watch as Sam stutters his run to a halt, smooths his shirt down, and takes a deep breath before pulling open the door and leaning against it. “‘Sup,” they hear, and they both burst into laughter, especially when Sam shuts the door behind her with ears red as a tomato. Jess though, Jess just looks tickled pink just to be here with Sam._

      _“Hello, Jessica,” Cas says, smiling at her and taking his seat back at the bar._

      _“Hey, Castiel,” Jess says with a grin. Her eyes then flick to Dean. “Hey, Dean,” she says, and Dean turns away from his breakfast masterpiece to wink at her._

      _“‘Sup,” he says, leaning against the refrigerator like Sam had done to the front door. Sam turns ten shades of red, but Jessica just grins at him. “Hey, your boyfriend made you breakfast,” Dean says to Jess as a peace offering for Sam, smiling as he slides the last of the bacon onto a plate and puts it with the rest of the food._

      _“That’s so sweet,” Jess says, looking to Sam with a soft smile, one that Sam returns with a blushing shrug._

      _“It was nothing,” Sam says, pulling out a stool for her to sit on. Dean passes the smiling couple plates and snags a pancake for himself before pulling Cas from his seat and leading him towards the door._

      _“Hey,” he grunts when he is pulled away from his stool. “I was hungry.”_

      _“You’re_ hungry? _Already? You_ just _had sausage,” Dean says, to which Cas slaps his arm, a shocked and amused expression on his face. Dean cackles out a laugh, doubly so when he hears Sam whine at them from the kitchen about ruining his appetite._

      _“Cocktail wieners don’t count,” Cas snipes back, leaning forward with his forefinger and thumb showing the size of the small wiener._

      _“I don’t know whether to applaud you for the pun or be hurt that you think my penis is small,” Dean says, bringing a hand to his chest. Cas grins. “We’re going out. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dean calls to Sam from the living room, slipping into his shoes and passing Castiel his._

      _“What wouldn’t you do?” Sam retorts sharply, and he sees Cas give a_ he’s got a point _shrug beside him._

      _“Jesus Christ, what is this? Pick on Dean day? Fine, Samantha, don’t do anything_ Cas _wouldn’t do,” he amends, opening the door and guiding Cas out by the small of his back. “We’ll be back in a little while.”_

     Dean blinks, and the room before him comes back into focus. There are his old posters on the walls, his old books on the shelf. He sees all the blood stains, food stains, and tears stains on his carpet. He sees his life in a million moments in this room, and he wants nothing more than to lie down on the bed and crash. He knows he can’t do that though, not with John liable to come back at any moment. So instead, he heads to the living room, his eyes trailing over the pictures hung in the hallway. He sees himself smiling with Sam, a snapshot Bobby took. He sees Sam working on the Impala with Bobby, a snapshot Dean took. He sees one of Dean and Cas dressed in their respective soccer and baseball attire, a snapshot Sam took. He doesn’t see any of his father, and he knows why. He knows because he hung all these, taking care to choose only the happy ones, the ones that didn’t remind him that his father was a drunken dead-beat.

     Dean trails his hands over them all with a sigh, straightening the ones that need it and the ones that don’t. Then he is in the living room, surrounded by dirty dishes and limp clothes and the stench of stale alcohol. Dean sighs again.

     “Would it kill you to clean a bit?” Dean mutters, kicking aside a pair of dirty boxers with a grunt. _There’s nothing left for me here,_ Dean thinks mournfully. He takes one last look around at the empty pizza boxes, the empty beer cans, the endless piles of dirty clothes and dirty pasts before leaving, not bothering to lock the door behind him.

     Dean trails his hands over Baby one last time before climbing back into Bobby’s rusty truck and starting the engine. He was only entirely hoping to hear that deep, rich roar and open his eyes to see leather beneath him, the road stretching out over Baby’s hood, Cas right next to him, and Sam laughing in the back. He was only entirely hoping that this whole disaster has been just one long, hellaciously vivid nightmare.

     However, only the bad comes for the Winchesters, so when the engine cranks, he hears the sputter of corroded carburetors and opens his eyes to ratty cloth, his shattered home folding over the hood, and emptiness all around him. It’s everywhere, that emptiness.

     Dean finds himself driving the roads before he even knows where he’s going. He parks in a little turn off that is definitely not meant for him but will do the trick anyway. He’s back to that hill, the one with the little pond at the bottom that swallowed him all those winters ago. Dean pulls a pair of gloves from the glove compartment and looks around at the trees and the hills and the snow just the same as it was back then. Cas isn’t here. That much is different. He has no sled as he makes his way down the hill, that much is different too. Something that’s the same? Dean crashing down to the ice as soon as he hits it. Something that’s different? Dean bringing his knees to his chest and crying, his tears leaving hot trails down his face as they roll. He doesn’t cry for the fall. He cries for _his_ fall, the one for Cas.

      _“And just where are we going, my beautiful and talented boyfriend?” Cas asks with a grin as they get outside._

      _“Oh, no, no, no, you don’t get to do that. You insulted the size of my penis.” Dean pulls the door open for Cas and walks around to his own. “Besides, you didn’t seem to think it was so small when you were choking on it this morning.” Dean pulls out of the drive slowly, clearly pleased with himself._

      _“Well, what can I say? Small things_ are _a choking hazard,” Cas replies with a shrug, scooting closer across the bench with a teasing grin._

      _“Alright, that’s it. No sex for you for a week.”_

      _“You know I love your cock, Dean,” Cas says, leaning close in Dean’s personal space and licking against his ear. “All thick and hot in my hand, my mouth…inside me.” Cas nips gently at his earlobe, pulling it and reveling in the blush he has creeping up Dean’s neck. Cas lets his hand creep down and down until he is palming against Dean’s crotch. Dean doesn’t tell his eyes to drift shut, but he does tell them to snap the fuck open when he hears a horn honking at him. He jerks back into his lane and slaps the palm away from his pants._

      _“You stay over there, you horndog,” Dean says, pointing to the other side of the car and hoping Cas knows he’s only teasing. Cas grins and kisses Dean’s cheek before scooting away a bit, linking his fingers between Dean’s._

      _“So where are we going?” Cas asks again, and this time, Dean smiles._

      _“You remember when we were little, we went sledding? There was that little pond that had frozen over…we slid right into the middle of it.” Cas nods, turning his head and looking out the window._

      _“Yes, I remember that. We had colds for weeks from being in the water.” Cas is still looking out the window, but Dean is looking at him confused._

      _“You didn’t go in the water,” Dean says, drawing Cas’ eyes to his._

      _“Who do you think pulled you out?” Cas asks softly, squeezing Dean’s fingers gently._

      _“You did?” Dean asks finally, and Cas nods. “I never knew…I just always assumed it was Dad or someone.” Cas shakes his head softly, still staring at Dean across the small space between them._

      _“Your dad was at the top of the hill with Sam.”_

      _“You pulled me out,” Dean murmurs, his eyes incredibly soft as he looks at Cas._

      _“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when my hydrophobic best friend falls into a frozen pond,” Cas says with a smile, but Dean is serious._

      _“You saved my live, Cas,” Dean says, drawing Cas’ eyes to him._

      _“You’d have done it for me,” Cas murmurs with a shrug._

      _“We were just kids…how did you know you wouldn’t drown?”_

      _“I didn’t,” Cas admits softly, and Dean leans across to kiss him softly._

      _“Thank you,” he whispers, and Cas smiles._

      _“It was just me loving you. You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”_

      _“Thank you for loving me,” Dean replies anyway, and Cas grins._

     Dean pulls it together eventually. He stands from that damn slick pond and starts the trek back up the hill to Bobby’s truck. He doesn't know why he went there anyway, only that he wanted a place where memories of no one but Cas permeated. He sees he was wrong; he pushes away all thoughts of Cas. He thinks of Sam instead. He thinks of Bobby. He thinks of Ellen and Jo and Jess and Benny and anyone else who can make him forget.

     The road back to Bobby’s seems endless, but in no time at all, Dean is back in that rickety, old house with his feet dragging over every step. He can’t remember the last time he felt so low. 

     “Dean?” Bobby calls from the back, concern etched into his voice.

     “Yeah, it’s me,” Dean replies, pulling the toboggan off his head and tossing it to the side for someone else to deal with.

     “Can you come here for a second?” Bobby asks, so Dean hangs his head, grumbles to himself about _just_ sitting the fuck down, and stands. He finds Bobby at his desk in the library, curled over a pile of papers written with a graceful hand.

     “Whoa, that doesn’t look like calculus,” Dean says, leaning around Bobby to get a better look at the papers. Bobby jumps at the sound of Dean’s voice before spinning in his desk chair, arms landing on the pile behind him.

     “What? This? Yeah, I gave the class a little extra credit since so many of them are falling behind,” Bobby says, widening his eyes pointedly at Dean. Dean ignores the sentiment.

     “Jesus, what did you make them do? Write a math dissertation?” Dean asks, picking up one of several pages written in the same familiar script. His eyes narrow at it. He flips around for the cover page, one that hopefully has a name on it.

     “No, it’s just an essay,” Bobby says, reaching for the papers, but it’s too late. Dean has found the cover page, and he has found the name scrawled across the top. _Castiel Milton, grade 12._

     “Cas?” Dean asks, running his fingers over the indents in the page.

     “Dean…” Bobby starts softly, leaning back in his chair to assess the damage.

     “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asks finally, and Bobby sighs.

     “Why didn’t I tell you that your boyfriend has the time to send in all of his school work, but not the time to send you a single letter?” Bobby asks, and to see it all laid out like that…Dean sees why Bobby didn’t tell him. It’s because it hurts like a son of a bitch. Dean hands the papers back numbly. “I didn’t mean for you to see, Dean,” Bobby says finally, softly, but Dean is already shutting down, shielding himself from the hurt that Cas just keeps doling out.

     “Did you need something?” Dean mutters finally, eyes looking at Bobby but far from seeing him. Bobby sighs.

     “I just wanted to know your plans for your birthday,” Bobby says, and the world around Dean becomes a little clearer.

     “Birthday?” Dean mimics softly, eye brows pulling together.

     “Yes, son. Your birthday. It’s next week.”

     “Oh,” Dean murmurs. “I forgot I guess.”

     “It’s a big one. Eighteen, voting, buying tobacco products, getting into adult movie stores, ordering crap from late night infomercials, aren’t you excited?” Dean shrugs. “Dean,” Bobby starts with a sigh. He puts Cas’ papers to the side and stands from his chair, crossing the room to Dean in a heartbeat. “Son, you have _got_ to pull yourself out of this.”

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says petulantly.

     “ _Cas_ ,” Bobby hisses, and Dean flinches at His name. “I’m talking about _Cas_ , Dean."

     “Isn’t everyone,” Dean murmurs, eyes falling to the floor. Bobby reaches out and grasps Dean’s arms, squeezing him a bit to get his message across.

     “Because we’re _worried_ about you, son. We’re worried that this, _Cas,_ is going to break you into a million pieces.” Bobby takes in a deep breath, hands still gripping tight to Dean’s arms. Dean’s eyes stay glued to the ground. “Dean,” Bobby sighs, releasing Dean and stepping backwards. “I _know_ you love him,” he starts, trying desperately to catch Dean’s eye. “I know you do, and I know it hurts that he’s not talking to you, even more so now that you know he’s talking to other people. It hurts me _for_ you. It makes me want to fail him just on principle.”

     “No,” Dean murmurs, finally looking up and shaking his head mournfully. “I don’t want you to do that.” Bobby sighs.

     “Look, Dean, all I’m saying is that I know it hurts. I _know_ it does. You love him, and this is your first heartbreak, but this is also the first love of the dozens, hundreds that you’ll have.” Dean stares at Bobby for a long moment. _I don't want anybody else,_ he thinks. _Just him. Always him. I want him._

     “That doesn’t make it hurt less,” Dean whispers instead, and Bobby nods, pain and empathy in his eyes.

     “I know that,” Bobby says, reaching out and clasping Dean’s shoulder again. “But, son, you gotta have faith that you’ll pull through this.”

     “Faith,” Dean snorts, backing away from Bobby and turning to stare out of the window. The world around him is so bare…so empty without the green of the grass and the blue of the sky. “Dad and Cas are the only things I’ve ever had faith in. Look how those have turned out.”

     “Maybe you should put your faith in me, then. Put your faith in Sam or in Ellen or in yourself for a change…” Dean watches the snow fall from the gray sky.

     “He’s all I’ve ever known, Bobby,” Dean admits quietly, and Bobby pushes back a sigh. “He’s been my best friend for all my life…I’ve never had to live without him.”

     “Well, you’ll just have to learn, now won’t you?” Bobby smiles, but Dean is still facing the window.

     “Guess so,” Dean mutters.

     “You can start by telling me what you want to do for your birthday?” Bobby suggests, a smile clearly overlain in his voice.

      _I want to see Cas,_ but Dean doesn’t say that... There would be no point.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More non-con ahead...

     Dean doesn't ask for much for his birthday. He asks to sit down around Bobby’s rickety little table and eat food Ellen cooked just for them and blow out the eighteen candles atop a pie Sam helped bake and top it all off by going the fuck to bed. However, as unassuming and humble as the wishes might be, no one seems to want to comply with them, from start to finish.

     He starts his day off on the wrong foot...to say the least. He's probably at least a little at fault, but come on, do they really expect him _not_ to start swinging fists on instinct alone when they jerk his headphones off his head to wake him up? Lucky for them, Sam ducked and Dean woke up enough to realize that it was Bobby he was swinging for, not some burglar or monster. Even so, Bobby drops the plate he's holding in order to block the punch flying towards the side of his head, landing Dean's special birthday waffles syrup-side-down on the old, shaggy carpet. 

     “Happy birthday,” Bobby comments dryly, his hands still wrapped around Dean’s wrist where he stopped it mid-swing.

     “I’m sorry, Bobby,” Dean says meekly, pulling his hand away and kneeling to begin the cleanup of his mess. Bobby pulls him up by his shoulder before he can plunge his hands in. 

     “It’s okay. It’s your birthday. I’ll clean it up. You go take a shower.” Bobby smiles reassuringly at Dean and stoops to start picking up the breakfast. “Go on,” he says when Dean stands there a minute longer, debating whether he should help. Even so, he steps guiltily around the mess and heads for the shower. His wash is quick, perfunctory even, and when he is done, he dresses in the same mechanical manner. Sam is waiting at the kitchen table when Dean comes down the stairs, a candle-topped slice of pie awaiting him at the table.

     “Happy birthday,” Sam says with a smile as Dean plonks down at the table beside him. He blows out the candle, wishes for—what else—Cas, and digs in, groaning around the taste of pecan and sugar and butter. 

     “Thanks. Ellen make this?” Dean asks around the food, and Sam nods. “‘S good,” Dean says through his mouthful of pie. They sit in silence through the remainder of his pie, then they load up and head to school, Sam continuously palming a small gift that had been painstakingly wrapped. “That for me?” Dean asks teasingly, but the glance Sam cuts him tells him that it is not the time to be teasing. 

     “Today is Jessica’s birthday too. This is hers,” Sam says, fingering the wrapping paper gently. Now that Dean looks, it is definitely a more feminine style paper than he would expect Sam to use for him, paisley or some shit. And pink. Very, very pink. 

     “What’d you get her?” Dean asks, glancing at Sam before looking back to the road. 

     “I…it’s personal,” Sam says finally, and Dean snorts. 

     “Personal? Kid, I raised you. You can tell me what you got your girlfriend.” Dean lets out a snort of teasing laughter, and again, the look on Sam’s face tells him it’s not a joking matter. “You okay?” he asks, and Sam nods. 

     “Yeah,” he says, then falling silent. Miles pass, and Dean is ready to let it go. If Sam’s not joking, he’s not going to push it, raised him or no. Then all at once, words erupt from Sam like a dam were breaking. “Itsapromisering,” he half-shouts, and if he didn’t look so terrified, Dean might laugh. 

     “What?" Dean says, allowing Sam to pull in a big breath before he's speaking again, louder this time and more frantic. 

     "ItsapromiseringandIllbegivingBobbymyallowancefortwoyearstopayhimbackforitandImscaredshewontlikeitwellnotsomuchthatshewontliketheringbutthatshewontlikewhatImtryingtosaywhichisthatIloveher!” He pulls in a breath, a gasp that leaves his chest heaving before he starts right back in, that panic still hiding in his voice. “ _I love her_ , Dean, and I know I’m only thirteen, but I do, and I want to marry her one day, and I’m scared that isn’t what she wants. What if that isn’t what she wants…?”

     “Sam,” Dean starts finally, softly, warily. Sam looks over, eyes wide like Dean just told him he ran over his puppy. “You don’t see the way she looks at you.” Sam’s eyes grow even wider, and it might be comical if he didn’t look so terrified. “Give it to her, and let me be the best man at your wedding,” Dean says with a smile, and the terror slowly seeps out of Sam’s eyes.

     “Really?” he asks quietly, and Dean nods, his eyes on the road ahead of them but smiling. “Thank you, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean smiles, if only to cover it by rolling his eyes. “Can I be the best man at yours and Cas’ wedding?” he asks excitedly, and all at once, the laughter and softness drains from Dean. 

     “I don’t know if there’s going to _be_ a Cas and Dean wedding…” he says after a long moment, and the thought alone hurts him. He always thought they would be together forever, even at five. 

      _“And you’ll be my best friend forever?” Dean asks, laying face to face in that tiny twin sized bed with Cas’ big, blue eyes staring earnestly at him._

      _“I’d like to be your best friend forever,” Cas replies, staring at Dean with his eyebrows knit close and low through the darkness._

     He always thought they would be best friends through everything. Now…now, he’s not so sure. He just needs to talk to Cas. He needs to hear that his doubts are completely invalid and that Cas still loves him with every ounce of his being. He needs to hear that he’s been worrying for nothing, that Cas would have called if he could, written if he could. He needs to hear that his love—and God, does he love Cas—isn’t unrequited, isn’t unwanted. 

     “What?” Sam asks, “Why?” and Dean sighs.

     “I don’t know, Sam. He’s not here. I haven’t heard from him in a _month._ Not a single word, and now he’s got time and the means and the inclination to send in his homework, and I just.... I don’t even know if he still loves me…” Dean shakes his head as though he could make the bad thoughts go away. He doesn’t want them. 

     “Dean,” Sam starts, looking at Dean earnestly. Dean can’t look at him. He might cry if he does, seeing his emotions reflected back in Sam like that. “You don’t see the way he looks at you,” Sam says, throwing his words back at him, and Dean scoffs, eyes burning. 

     “Shut up,” Dean says without hostility. Sam smiles, but his eyes are soft.

     “Seriously, Dean. It’s kinda gross,” he teases, bringing a smile out of Dean. 

     “Shut up, bitch,” Dean says, to which Sam really grins. 

     “Jerk,” he replies without hesitation. They fall silent, the last few miles to the school turning beneath the wheels. As they pull into the parking lot, Sam looks back to Dean, a soft smile on his face. Dean holds his breath at what’s sure to come. “Really, Dean,” he starts earnestly. “The way he looks at you…it’s like you filled the whole damn sky.” Dean feels his cheeks heat. He feels his eyes burn. His whole body aches for Cas. “Don’t be dumb and give that up, especially not when you’ve never seen the way _you_ look at _him._ ”

     “How do I look at him?” Dean asks after a long moment. He isn’t sure if he really wants to hear the answer. Sam replies anyway, speaking through the hesitation in Dean’s eyes.

     “It’s like,” he starts pausing to consider. “It’s like you’re grateful to him for sitting and telling you about the bees.” Sam takes a long moment to watch Dean’s reaction, and upon seeing the way he picks at his cuticles and refuses to meet Sam’s eye, he continues, double the verve. “You hate bees, Dean. It’s like you had a crush, like he’s some movie star instead of _literally_ the boy next door.” Sam is on a roll now, damn how miserable Dean looks. “It’s like every time he asks something, anything, ‘How important is lipstick to you, Dean?’ you look at him and think ‘I have no fucking idea why he loves me, but I’m damn sure glad he does.’” Sam’s chest is heaving when he finishes, and Dean’s chest is so tight he can barely breathe through the words Sam just slammed against him. It takes him far too long to respond.

     “You’d think by now I’d feel like I deserved at least a little love,” he mutters finally before shouldering his way out of the truck and heading for the school.

     “Dean,” Sam calls after him, but he doesn’t stop. He refuses. If he stops, he cries. “Dean, please,” Sam calls, and so he does. He always will for Sam. Sam opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. “Happy birthday,” he says finally; it’s obvious that is not what had been resting on his tongue. Even so, Dean smiles. He’s almost certain he does not want to hear the intended words.

     “Thanks, Sammy. Tell Jess the same.” Then he’s off to first period to stare at the empty desk with Cas’ name on it, the silence at the “Castiel Milton” portion of roll call. _Happy fucking birthday,_ he thinks viciously.

* * *

     First period sucks. Cas isn’t there. Second period sucks. Cas isn’t there. Third period sucks, but not as much because Cas isn’t _supposed_ to be there in that class. Then he has math with Bobby, and Cas isn’t supposed to be there either, so it’s about as okay as math can get, especially because Bobby leaves him the hell alone through the period as a gift to him.

     Then there’s fifth period. Dean hates fifth period now almost as much as he loved it then. It was the time of day when both he and Cas were free, and there was always the promise of food, the allure of a blow job, and that goddamn laugh to top it all. Dean spent a lifetime of school lunches watching that laugh, even before they were together. Now he sits at their lunch table alone, waiting like a loser for his baby brother to get out of class and join him. He puts his head down. 

     “Happy birthday, Dean,” a voice says from behind, a hand dragging across his shoulder and up to his hair. Dean, upon the touch, tries to pretend that the voice isn’t female, and the hand is Cas’. 

     “Thanks, Bela,” he says, and when he looks up, he sees a predatory smile on her lips as she sinks onto the bench beside him, her fingers still rubbing through his hair. Bela Talbot, British foreign exchange student, two-time ex of Dean’s, promiscuous extraordinaire. There have been times when Bela was a very appealing prospect to Dean. He liked her hair. He liked her accent. He liked her boobs. So he’d dated her, but it was less dating and more unattached sex. Apparently that was Dean’s thing before Cas. 

     “You know,” she starts, leaning forward so that her breath brushes against Dean’s ear with every word. “On your last birthday, we never even left the bed,” she whispers, and presses a kiss to the corner of Dean’s jaw. He pulls away slowly. 

     “Bela,” he starts, but she follows him, attaching her lips to his earlobe and tugging slightly. “Bela, stop. You know…I’m seeing someone…”

     “They aren’t here, Dean,” she says, bringing her hand down and down and down until she’s palming at his crotch. He tries to move away. “Let me do this for you, Dean,” she says, licking into his ear and pushing harder. 

     “Bela, stop,” he says again, firmer this time, pulling away quickly as not to get caught up in the tightening of his jeans. “Stop.” 

     “Dean, you want me,” she says, pressing against his pants. “I can feel you want me.” Her eyes gleam darker as she leans close. “You’re so hot for me, Dean. All hard and horny.” 

     “Bela,” he says, but his voice cracks. If he moves any further away, he will fall off the bench. “Physical response isn’t consent,” he says weakly, and despite the fact that he knows he’s right, he can’t help but remember little Bela Talbot. He remembers his hands in her hair…that tight, hot pussy…those sweet, perfect tits. His pants tighten just a little bit more. 

     “Come on, Dean,” she says, sliding closer until she is practically in his lap. Dean has nowhere to go. He’s not sure if he wants to anyway. “Just for old time’s sake.” 

     “I’m seeing someone,” he stutters weakly, but he isn’t sure about that either. He hasn’t heard from Cas in a month. Who’s to say that Cas isn’t banging someone else this very moment? _He’s not, and you know it,_ a harsh voice from the back of his mind says, but Dean swallows it away, lost in Bela’s nostalgia and pull. 

     “I’m seeing someone too,” Bela counters, licking her way down his throat. People are starting to stare. 

     “I’m not a cheater,” Dean reminds breathlessly. Bela nips against his pulse. It is beating loud and hard and fast. 

     “You cheated on me,” she supplies, and he had. The end of Bela was the beginning of Lisa, but she doesn’t sound angry. She’s merely persuading. “Come on, Dean,” she croons, right against his ear. “Just one little kiss,” she whispers, and Dean’s head turns without his permission. His lips barely brush hers, a ghost of a kiss, really, but then she’s gripping his hair and kissing him, really kissing him. Then that one kiss becomes two, and the two become five, and the five become them rising and making their way to somewhere, anywhere private, all the while Dean’s mind tumbling back and forth between _I’m not a cheater,_ and _Cas doesn’t have to know._ When they get to that private place, i.e., whaddya know, a bathroom, Dean is stuck on _I’m not a cheater._

     “Bela, please,” he gasps, leaning away from her seeking hands and teeth and tongue. “I don’t want to do this.” Bela laughs, her hands demanding of their conquest.

     “Baby,” Bela croons. “Your girlfriend isn’t here,” and that is it. End of discussion.

     She takes him from behind, hard and rough and silent. Dean does not touch her tits. He does not touch her hair. He stretches her ass, neglects her pussy, and pumps into her again and again. From the back, her dark head hanging limply, Dean can almost squint and believe she’s Him. He comes hard inside her, sobbing Cas’ name instead of hers, but he can’t be understood.

     "Wow," she says when he is finished. She straightens her clothes, smooths down her hair, and looks back at Dean with a grin. “Are you quite sure it isn’t _my_ birthday?” She asks with a small laugh, stepping forward to kiss Dean. He kisses her back mechanically with tears welling in his eyes. She leaves after she kisses him, hips swaying like always, like she hadn’t just been pounded up the ass. He locks the door back behind her, slides down to his knees, and cries. Dean Winchester, macho man, ladies’ man, king of not giving a fuck, falls to his knees and sobs like a goddamned baby. 

     He doesn’t even know why. All he knows is that it hurts. All he knows is that everything hurts like a bitch and that if he doesn’t fall to the floor and cry like a goddamned baby, he might just burst into a million pieces. So he does. He sits in the middle of that nasty boys’ bathroom, hands shaking and knees refusing to hold him every time he tries to stand. He sits there, covered in shame and _her_ and _Him,_ God…Him.

     Eventually, he thinks of Sam, and Sam, like he always does, helps Dean to remember that he has fucking responsibilities, people to smile to and assure he’s okay even though he’s dying on the inside. So he stands. He scrubs his face with cold water to get rid of the sex and the tears and the general Dean-like mess that is his whole goddamn life, and when he looks up at himself in the mirror, he can almost pretend he’s okay. Almost. But he’s not. And everyone knows it. He leaves that bathroom anyway, head held high and wielding his _I just got laid_ walk even though every step hurts. 

     “Hey,” Sam calls when he sees Dean. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says, then pauses after watching him for a second. “You okay?” he asks, his face contorting as he watches Dean close the gap between them. 

     “Yeah?” Dean says, sitting at the table and giving his brother an incredulous look. “Why?”

     “Dunno. You look weird, like you have an itch somewhere you can’t scratch.” Sam looks to his own zipper meaningfully, and Dean turns ten shades of red. 

     “No!” he half-shrieks. “Sam,” he then sighs, irritated and embarrassed. “Did you give Jess her present yet?” he asks, anything to change the subject, and Sam grins widely. 

     “Yeah. She kissed me full on the mouth right in front of everyone,” Sam says, that dopey grin still in place, his eyes wide and starry. 

     “Speak of the devil,” Dean says, spotting Jess walking over, a huge smile plastered on her face, ring on her finger sparkling in the sun. Sam turns, and if Dean thought his eyes were gooey before, they are practically liquid now. 

     “Hey,” he says when she sits, ever the one with words. 

     “Hi,” she replies, grinning at him in that same soft manner. 

     “Happy birthday, Jessica,” Dean says when she looks over at him, Sam’s residual smile in her eyes. 

     “Same for you,” she says, a grin on her face, and Dean smiles. 

     “Thanks.” Then Dean is excluded from their conversation, not intentionally, of course, but that’s just how couples are. When they get together, the rest of the world ceases to exist. It’s not Sam’s fault if Dean just becomes part of the rest of the world when he’s with Jessica. It’s not Sam’s fault that every time he thinks of Cas, the rest of the world ceases to exist, but he’s entirely alone. It’s not Sam’s fault, but Dean doesn’t want to spend his birthday as the third wheel. “I’m just going to catch up with you guys later,” Dean says, rising to leave and being pushed back down by a large and rowdy hand. 

     “Happy birthday, brotha’,” Benny says, sitting across from Dean after a one-armed hug. 

     “Yeah, happy birthday, Dean,” Kevin says with a smile as he sits beside Benny. 

     “Thanks guys,” Dean says with a soft smile. They mean well…he knows that, but he doesn’t want to have to put on a front for them too. He wants to go to the library, or maybe Bobby’s room, anywhere quiet will do, and beat himself up over what happened with Bela because he’s an asshole, and he deserves that shit. He wants to sit in silence until the silence devours him, swallows him whole like he was never there in the first place.

     “Hey, Kev,” Benny says, elbowing Kevin in the ribs and startling Dean away from his thoughts. “Check out Andrea,” Benny says, following her with his eyes. Some part of Dean tells him this is the same dark-haired girl that had Benny pinned up against a wall at that party a million years ago. 

     “Dude, when are you gonna ask her out already?” Kevin asks, looking at Benny instead of Andrea. 

     “I,” Benny starts, mouth fluttering. “I don’t know.” 

     “Didn’t you already make out with her?” Dean asks helpfully, and Benny narrows his eyes at him.

     “Yeah, but it don’t mean nothin’, not to a girl like her.”

     “Benny, Andrea is _not_ a slut,” Kevin says loudly, laughter hiding in the edge of his voice and Dean can’t help but laugh too, especially at the comically wide eyes Benny offers up to make sure Andrea didn’t hear. 

     “What? No! I just meant,” he starts, but Kevin and Dean are already starting in, picking him apart like guys do.

     “Benny, I didn’t know you were that kind of a guy,” Dean says, grinning with Kevin. 

     “I’m not!” 

     “Yeah, and I’ll bet Dean didn’t think he was either until he dated Bela, but now look at him!” Kevin laughs loudly, and all at once, it slams back into Dean. He fucked Bela. Again. He fucked Bela while he’s waiting on Cas to come back. Holy shit. Dean feels a rush of nausea, and he has to hold entirely still so that he doesn’t toss his stomach the wrong way and blow chunks all over his friends.

     “You okay there, brotha’?” Benny asks, watching Dean concernedly. Dean nods slowly. 

     “Stomach cramp,” he mutters, but they all know he’s lying. No one pushes it though. Instead, they sit and laugh rambunctiously with Sam and Jess and each other and Dean doesn’t mind being put out of the conversation again. It just means less people to fake a smile to. 

     Lunch ends, and he walks to sixth period alone, smiling for no one. He sits through the lecture, doodling Cas’ name, his eyes, his smile again and again in his notes. Then of course, last period. It comes and goes as quickly as can be expected with that damn empty seat taunting Dean, but before he can make it out and get the hell away, his name is called over the P.A. 

     “Dean Winchester to the office, please,” the lady says, and the whole class—dumbassed children that they are—let out a simultaneous chorus of ooooohhh’s that varies in tone. His teacher looks unamused through it all, but she still hands him a hall pass and dismisses him. 

     He’s not worried. It’s high school. What are they gonna do? Kick him out? Dean scoffs. Even so, his steps take longer than they should to dominate that seemingly endless hallway, and when he does, he wishes he had not left the class. He wishes he had not gotten out of bed.

     “Happy birthday, son,” John says, eyes gleaming and a smile on his face. Dean thinks he looks sadistic as hell. Dean looks to the bored receptionist for help, for concern, for anything that says ‘if this man lays a hand on you, I’ll do more than pretend I never saw.’ He’s not scared of his father. He’s never been. Or at least…that’s what he keeps telling himself. 

     “What do you want?” Dean asks finally, and he’s proud to say his voice doesn’t shake. Standing there in his father’s old leather jacket, dick still limp from his romp with Bela, heart still shattered from his affair with Cas, hall pass in hand, Dean’s voice does not shake in the slightest. 

     “What do I want?” John asks, stepping closer and raising his arms. Dean flinches involuntarily, but if John sees, he doesn’t comment. “I want to tell my son happy birthday. It’s been too long, Dean.” John moves forward again and wraps his arms around Dean, squeezing harder and harder to the point of pain until Dean hugs him back. “I’m proud of you, boy,” John says, and Dean does not know what to do. His entire existence warms at the words of praise coming from between his father’s lips. _I’m proud of you._

     “Thanks, Dad,” he says finally, and this time, his voice shakes. John smiles at Dean, and Dean can’t help but think this time, it looks a bit more genuine. 

     “Oh, I have a gift for you,” John says before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling something out, something that catches the light and jingles. “I know you love this car,” John says, dropping the keys into Dean’s palm. “I changed the deed and everything to your name. Take good care of her, son.” Dean stares at the keys for a long time, too stunned to do anything _but_ stare. 

     “Are you serious?” Dean asks finally, and John nods. “Oh my god. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” Dean pulls his father to him in a tight hug, those keys still clenched in his hands. 

     “You’re welcome. Listen, you and Sam should come by after school. I want you to meet my new fiancé.” John smiles, but Dean’s smile slips to nearly nothing. 

     “Your…fiancé…” Dean repeats, and John smiles again.

     “Yes. Her name is Lilith. I think you’ll really like her. She’s the one who suggested giving you the car,” John says, and laughs a bit, his hands sinking deep into his jacket’s pockets. Dean, again, is too stunned to respond. He doesn’t know how he’s managing to get air through his lungs honestly. “So, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you after school.” John says, claps Dean on the shoulder, and walks away without waiting for a reply from Dean. “Oh, and happy birthday.”

     Dean stands there in the lobby for a long time, staring unblinkingly even after the sleek, white sports car with the tag reading “L1L1TH” drove out of sight. He stands there until the receptionist clears her throat very pointedly at Dean, and even then, he has to take a moment to gather himself before returning to class for the rest of the period. 

     He meets Sam at his door after school, and from the look on Dean’s face, Sam can tell immediately that something is wrong. He tells Jess happy birthday one last time, kisses her on the cheek, and dismisses her to stare down his brother.

     “What’s wrong?” he asks, crossing his arms and staring Dean straight in the eye. If he gets any taller, he’ll have outgrown Dean. Dean focuses on this to keep himself from bursting. Instead, he holds the keys up for Sam to see. “Are those to the Impala?” Sam asks, reaching out and taking them in his hands to examine them. Dean nods. “What, did you steal them or something?” Sam asks lightly, attempting to ease some of Dean’s tension.

     “No,” Dean says finally, taking the keys back from Sam. “Dad gave them to me for my birthday right before he said he wants us to come over and meet his new fiancé.” Sam reacts much in the same way Dean did. His eyes get extremely excited about the car, then his whole world shatters at the word fiancé. 

     “Dad’s getting remarried?” Sam asks quietly, but Dean has nothing to say. “But…Mom.” Dean nods. He knows. His mother has been dead for over thirteen years, but it is still too soon to move on from her. Dean isn’t sure if it will ever stop being too soon. “Are we going?” Sam asks, looking to Dean with wide eyes, desperate for his big brother’s guidance. 

     “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dean allows, but Sam shrinks smaller. 

     “I do miss him,” Sam murmurs, and that decides it. They’re going back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you all hate me a little...That's okay. I hate me a little too, what with Lilith and Bela and Dean being a fucking idiot. Even so, I hoped you all enjoyed and as per usual, I'd love to know what everyone thought, good or bad!


	8. Chapter 8

     They stop by Bobby’s room to relay the story—surprise, surprise, Bobby doesn’t think it’s a great idea to go see John—and then head out with Dean once again behind the wheel of his Baby. He just sits in her for a while, listening to her purr as he revs her. Then he drives he like he’s never driven anything so superb in his life, and to him, he hasn’t. Baby is his, and he is Baby’s, and that is a bond that should never have been broken. 

     When they get back to that old house, those old memories flood him again. He sees Cas upside down in a tree, running down the street with a cape on, but then he blinks them away, and gets out of the car. Sam’s eyes widen at the car that obviously belongs to Lilith, but Dean is looking at the house. _Would Mom have liked this house?_ He asks himself. _I would have liked this house more if Mom had been here._

     Sam follows Dean to the door, staying slightly behind him because he knows Dean would push him there anyway. They knock, and the world stands still for a moment. The birds stop singing and the wind stops breathing and the oceans stop churning. Then the door is being hefted open and they are face to face with a round visage, blonde curls, and a huge smile. 

     “Hi,” she says, stretching her hand out to Dean. “I’m Lilith. It’s so lovely finally be meeting you! Your dad has told me all about you.” She all but jerks Dean through the door with the hand she has trapped between her own, and with her motion, there is nothing between her and Sammy. She takes full advantage of that, pulling Sam flush against her in a bone-crushing hug and cooing. “You must be sweet little Sammy,” she croons, and over her shoulder, Sam is giving Dean _help-me_ eyes. He would laugh if he weren’t so unsettled. But then John is appearing from the back, and Dean forgets all about ‘unsettled.’

     “Boys,” he says loudly, opening his arms as though he expected them to run to him and fall into his arms. Needless to say, they don’t. John pulls Dean firmly to his chest as though he hadn't just seen him an hour ago, before turning to Sam. “Hey, Sam,” he says softly, and Dean watches as Sam’s defenses fall one by one. He starts angry, moves to scared, back to angry, and on to hurt before he’s rushing to his father, wrapping those long and lanky arms around the bastard of a man who raised them. Dean feels his own hardness towards the man soften, and before long, they are all hugging, and John is crying, weeping like neither boy has ever seen. 

     “I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, squeezing them tighter and tighter. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you boys. I’m sorry.” The two boys let their father cry on them, letting those heavy tears take away the weight of every neglect John ever put them through. After a while, Sam and Dean’s shirts are soaked and they can only partly breathe, so John pulls away with a broken laugh. He rubs his hands down his face, before looking to Lilith who had been happily watching the whole affair. 

     “Sam, Dean, this is my fiancé, Lilith.” John smiles softly, and the sight, despite everything, makes Dean’s stomach roll. “She’s helping me get my life back together.” Dean’s eyes narrow. 

     “How?” he asks, and Lilith smiles, stepping forward and wrapping an arm low around John’s waist, her other hand coming up to cup the top of his stomach. 

     “I’ve helped him stop drinking, and I’ve helped him see that what matters is you boys, not that you’re,” she leans forward a bit, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Gay,” she finishes, and Dean reels back like she slapped him. 

     “I’m—I’m not,” he stutters finally, and he doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like boys, he just means he likes girls too. 

     “It’s okay son,” John says, a small smile on his face. “I’m okay with it.”

     “ _You’re_ okay with it?” Dean asks, disbelieving, but John nods. “You’re okay with me liking dudes?” John nods. “You’re okay with me hugging them, _holding hands with them,_ kissing them?” John stops him by shaking his head, his eyes crinkled.

     “I said I was okay with it, not that I wanted to hear all about it.” John stops shaking his head, but his eyes stay screwed shut. Then he opens them, and Dean is shocked to find that he really doesn’t look mad. He really looks okay. “Boys,” he says finally, stepping away from Lilith and bringing a hand up to each of his boys’ faces. “I’d like for you to come home.” 

     “What?” Dean asks, leaning away from the hand John has against Dean’s face like it is on fire. 

     “I know,” John says, closing his eyes as though the memory hurt him. _Yeah, well, Sam still can’t_ breathe _without the memory hurting him,_ Dean thinks bitterly. “I know I did you boys wrong…but I’ve changed. Really. And I’d like for you to come home so I can prove it to you.” Dean stares at John for a long while, measuring the truth in his eyes, then he slides his eyes to Lilith, only to see her wearing that same calm and distant smile. Then his eyes land on Sam. Sam who’s looking over to Dean with eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly as he waits for Dean to say something, something to give him a cue on how to act. 

     “Can I take the car for a drive?” Dean asks finally, and the smile slips off John’s face. 

     “She’s yours now, son. You can do whatever you want with her,” John says soberly, dropping the hand he still had resting on Sam’s face. Dean nods at John, and turns away. 

     “Come on, Sam,” he says, but when he looks over his shoulder, Sam was already following. “We’ll be back,” Dean promises, but he doesn’t really know. They may get in that car and never go back anywhere, follow the roads until they end then turn around and follow them to the other end, cross the country again and again. Even so, they start by going into town, to Ellen’s. They don’t say a single word along the way. 

     “Happy birthday, Dean,” Jo says as soon as they walk through the door. She is behind the counter, pot of coffee in hand. 

     “Dean?” Ellen calls upon hearing the name.

     “Thanks, Jo; hi, Ellen,” he says, smiling at them before attempting to head to a private booth in the back. 

     “Just where do you think you’re going?” Ellen calls with a grin when she sees him. Dean suppresses a sigh as he stops. 

     “Dean,” Sam says pointedly, but Dean just cuts him a glare. Ellen approaches and wraps them each in a big hug. 

     “Happy birthday,” she says when she hugs Dean, pressing a kiss against his cheek and pulling back to wipe the lipstick away. 

     “Thanks,” he says softly, and he must have done something to signal that he’s less than okay. Even so, she only gives him a questioning look before nodding to the back tables.

     “I’ll bring you boys the regular,” she says softly, and Dean thanks her, hoping she knows he means for more than the birthday wishes and food. She merely nods, and Sam and Dean make their way to the back table, Dean’s bones aching with every step. Sam sits across from Dean with his eyes cast down, and they exist in that silence for what feels like am eternity. 

     “Dean,” Sam says finally, and the careful deceit and calm Dean filled his world with crashes to the ground with the sound of Sam's voice. Reality is not calm and easy. Reality is being alone in a world that hates you... "I will be the first to admit that Dad is an ass, the first to admit that he’s a sorry bastard who doesn’t deserve any goodness. I’m the first to admit we don't get along and the first to admit me and dad butt heads _constantly_.” Sam stops and looks at Dean with big, wide eyes. “But I wanna go _home._ ” And so it’s decided. Dean kisses Ellen's cheek on the way out, loads Sammy back into the car, _his_ car, and heads for Bobby’s to deliver the news. 

     When they pull up, Bobby comes to the door with a shotgun in hand, cocked and ready to roll. Dean jumps from the car with his hands up, though getting shot would probably be an improvement on his day so far. 

     “Damn it, boy,” Bobby says, pointing the gun away from them. “I almost shot you! What’re you thinking riding up in your daddy’s car like that? Did 'ja steal that or somethin’?” Dean leans heavily on the door. He feels he might fall otherwise.

     “We need to talk, Bobby,” he says, and in the back of his mind, he hears Sam getting out of the car and heading for the house. Bobby’s eyes darken, but he nods inside anyway. They climb the steps in silence, that gun still hanging heavy between the three. Bobby leads them into the kitchen and sits them down at the table before turning to get sodas for Dean and Sam and a beer for himself. 

     “What’s this about, Dean?” Bobby asks when he sits down with the drinks. He looks to Sam first, but Sam is looking down, fingers fiddling with the tab of his soda. Seeing that he isn’t going to get a response out of Sam, Bobby turns to Dean, eyes expectant, and really, Dean doesn’t mind answering. He’s too numb to feel bad about it. 

     “Dad wants us to go home,” Dean says bluntly, and Bobby’s eyes widen. They stare at each other for a long moment, Dean dead on the inside and Bobby’s mouth flapping open and shut. 

     “No!” Bobby shouts finally, and Dean sees Sam flinch. Dean doesn’t react. “No,” Bobby says, softer this time with a small shake of his head. “Boys, it’s just gonna be the same old song and dance. He’s not gonna treat ya’ any better than when you left.” 

     “He’s changed, Bobby,” Dean says, but who is he to say? He spent an hour with the man at the most. “He’s engaged. He’s stopped drinking…he’s changed.” 

     “No,” Bobby says again, but this time, it’s broken. 

     “He said he was sorry, Bobby,” Dean says, staring at his Uncle Bobby, the man who’s been more like a father to them than an uncle or the non-relative he really is. 

     “Yeah? Well he ain’t! He ain’t nothing but a lyin’ sack of shit!” Bobby huffs for a long while, breathing slowly in and out. “Why do you wanna go back anyway?” he asks finally, looking to Sam expectantly because he knows it isn’t Dean wanting to leave. He knows Dean is only making happen what Sam wants and needs, regardless of what it means for him. Sam says nothing, never even looks up from his soda with his eyes full of shame.

     “He’s still our dad, Bobby,” Dean supplies finally, drawing Bobby’s eyes back to his, only to find them burning.

     “And just what the hell have I been to you all these years, huh? All those t-ball games? All those spelling bees? All those scraped knees and Sunday dinners and bedtime stories? Who have I been to you, if not your father?” Dean watches him carefully. Bobby's not angry. That much is obvious. 

     “I’m sorry, Bobby,” Dean says finally, because if he isn’t angry, he’s hurt. “It’s just not the same.” And if going home was the knife to Bobby’s back, those words were the twist of the wrist, for every emotion falls off Bobby’s face. Instead, they are left with a half-smile entirely out of place coupled with the desolate eyes. 

     “I’m not gonna make you stay,” Bobby says softly, that smile still on his face. “But, boys, he was so damn _bad_ to you. Dean, you couldn’t see out of your left eye for two weeks. Sam, your rib is still broke! Don’t forget what he’s done to you boys.”

     “I wish I could hate him, Bobby,” Dean says softly, finally letting his eyes fall from Bobby’s. “I wish I could…I’ve tried so hard. I know he’s a sorry, drunk, abusive bastard. I _know_ he is, but I just can’t hate him.” Bobby stares at him a long moment before dropping that smile and answering honestly.

     “That’s cause you aren’t capable of hating anyone, Dean. You’re too good. Lucky for you, I _am_ capable. Don’t do it, Dean. Don’t go back there. Don’t put yourself through that. Don’t put _Sam_ through that.” _I’m doing this_ for _Sam,_ Dean thinks viciously, but he’s too tired to show that on his face, to incite the argument that will invariably lead to. 

     “My mind is made up,” Dean says firmly, staring back at Bobby until the old man looks away, sadness on his face. 

     “Then I guess that’s that,” Bobby says finally. 

     “I guess so,” Dean says, but no one moves. They stay sitting at that kitchen table, the table that held the only real family meals Dean has ever seen, staring at nothing, each trapped in their own personal bubble of sadness. There was no trigger to end it. No phone call to snap them awake, no fire to scare them to life. Sam merely stands and heads for his room, and Dean follows just as quietly. They return down the stairs a few moments later, packed with what little they had brought and what lot Bobby had bought them, ready to leave their great adventure for the home front. Bobby is still at that table, but he has switched his beer for whiskey. 

     “Thank you, Bobby,” Dean says, stopping behind his chair and laying a hand on his shoulder. “I know it seems like we’re ungrateful little prats now, but we really do appreciate what you’ve done for us. If there’s anything we can ever do to return the favor…” Dean trails off. Bobby doesn’t seem like he’s hearing them anyway. Dean knows the feeling. 

     Sam hugs Bobby from behind, his scrawny arms wrapping tight around Bobby’s scruffy neck and his face pressing into Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby blinks and hugs Sam back a little, but Dean doesn’t think he can stand hugging Bobby right now. He might break. 

     They leave Bobby’s little home in the dust and rear-view, armed only with each other and the bags of their lives. Sam is pretty quiet, still holding that can of soda like it is the last gift he’ll ever receive, and Dean is too overstimulated to notice much of anything. He keeps seeing the same three people again and again in his mind. He sees Cas the best friend, Cas the lover, Cas the fighter, Cas the invincible. He misses Cas. He’d sell his soul for a ten minute phone call.

     Of course, thinking of Cas means thinking of what he did to Cas. So he thinks of Bela, cringing all the while. He thinks of the way he used her, the way he was thinking of Cas the whole time. He thinks of how Cas deserves better. Then he thinks of going to John’s, how that is exactly the fate Dean deserves. 

     Dean thinks of his father, of his angry fists, angry words. He thinks of every missed game, every missed birthday. John was never there except to yell at them and beat them. John was never there except to remind them that they were nothing. Cas made him feel like he was worth the whole damn world, and the cycle begins again. 

     By the time they make it back to John’s— _their_ —house, Dean has remembered seventy-three reasons why he loves Cas, seventy-nine reasons why he shouldn’t have fucked Bela, and one hundred and fifteen reasons why he’s angry at his father. But Sammy wants to come home, so Dean parks that Impala in the driveway just like old times and helps Sam pull his bags from the trunk. When they pull up, John immediately comes outside, a smile on his face that is so out of place that all Dean can do is gawk. 

     “Boys,” John croons when Dean pushes open the door. “You decided to come home.” 

     Dean finds himself being dragged inside, bombarded on all sides with questions about what he’s done since John last saw him. Dean thinks it’s a little ironic. He feels as though John should be asking Dean to start from the beginning, seeing as John missed all of that too. Sam however, Sam jumps right in about school and Jess.

     “Now who is Jessica?” Dean hears John ask from Sam’s room as they unload his bags. “You have a little crush on her?” John teases, and if they hadn’t been together for more than six months, Dean might think the gesture sweet. 

     “No, Dad,” Sam says patiently. Dean isn’t sure if that says more about his forgiveness towards his father or more about his desire to talk about Jess. “Jessica is my girlfriend. You’ve met her.” 

     “I have?” 

     “Yeah, Dad. Jessica? Blonde hair, blue eyes, yea big?”

     “ _Oh,_ ” John says exaggeratedly. “Yes, _Jessica._ I’m sorry,” John says, but even from his room, Dean can tell John doesn’t know. Sam continues to tell John everything, be it things about Jessica to his latest victory with his academic team, and when there is nothing left to say, there is a beat of silence, rolling footsteps in the hall, and John’s face in Dean’s door. Dean sees his reflection in the dark window, a smile plastered on his face. Dean doesn’t turn. “And what about you?” John says finally, but Dean does not respond. “What have I missed in your life?” Dean does not respond, simply continues putting away his clothes. “Come on, son. I’m trying here. Tell me what I’ve missed,” and Dean responds. 

     “Do you want to know what you missed, Dad? You missed my sixth birthday. You were passed out in your truck somewhere. I spent all afternoon at the school because you promised to pick me up, and by the time I realized you weren’t coming, the buses had already left. You missed my second grade science fair. That was the first time I ever put effort into a project, and when you didn’t care, I decided I wouldn’t either. You missed my fifth grade dance. You said you would pick my date up and take us but you were too busy at the bar. You missed me deciding to stop trusting you with things. 

     “I started putting me and Sammy on the bus, regardless of whether you’d said you’d pick us up or not because it was always a roll of the dice with you. I started staying away from school functions. I started falling behind in class. I bet you missed that too. I bet you missed the straight A’s I had in kindergarten, the straight A’s I had in first grade. I bet you missed the report card that said I was failing. You can’t just come back here after fourteen years of absence and ask me to fill you in. That doesn’t make it okay. I just want you to know that I’m here for one reason, and one reason alone, that being Sam. The minute he decides he’s done, we’re gone.” Dean fumes, staring his father dead in the eye. 

     “I’m glad you’ve finally started standing up for yourself,” John says finally, but Dean’s breath only heaves further. “I just hate that it’s when I’m actually sorry.” John leaves the room, and Dean falls on his bed, breathing in the scent of a million early mornings, a million sleepless nights. Cas is under that smell too.

     Dean lays staring up at the ceiling for a long while, breathing in that almost-Cas smell before it all becomes too familiar and indistinguishable. A knock sounds, but before he can answer, his door is being pushed open and slitted, tawny eyes are staring at him. 

     “Dinner in ten,” she says shortly, and before Dean can open his mouth to say anything, she is starting back in, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. “Do you want to know what my problem is? I’ll tell you what my problem is. My problem is that your father has worked _so hard_ to stay clean for you boys, and do you know what he’s in there doing? He’s in there drinking a beer! I don’t know what you said to him, but I want you to go apologize _right now._ ” Dean leans back, eyes wide as he stares at her, taking in her gall and her nerve.

     “Kind of dumb to keep alcohol in the house of a recovering alcoholic, don't you think?" Dean retorts, locking eyes with her before laying down on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. 

     "Apologize," she growls, and Dean snorts, a fire growing in his stomach. 

     "Look, lady," Dean starts, sitting up and cocking his head at her. "You don’t know anything about my life or what he’s put Sam and me through." 

     “I know enough,” she says, narrowing her eyes until they are nothing but little slits. 

     “You know nothing.” 

     “Young man, you had better go apologize to him.” 

     “Or what?”

     “I can make your life a living hell,” she threatens, and honest to God, Dean laughs.

     “My life is already a living hell. I’m a queer kid in the Bible Belt with an abusive, drunk father and no friends. You can’t make my life worse.”

     “I can do a lot worse,” she promises, stepping farther into Dean’s room. 

     “Try me,” Dean challenges, and at the words, a sadistic smile twists its way onto her perfectly made lips. 

     “Dinner in eight,” she says, leaving and pulling the door shut behind her. Dean finds himself in the dining room with a smiling and oblivious Sam eight minutes later. “Sam, sweetheart,” Lilith calls from the kitchen over her shoulder, an apron tied pristinely around her waist. “Could you set the table for me?” 

     “Yes, ma’am,” Sam says before moving for the cabinets. 

     “Thank you, dear,” Lilith says, turning to look at Sam, and when her eyes drag across Dean, that sadistic smile comes back. Dean turns away, leaving the dining room to find John, and it doesn’t take long in that small house. When Dean finds him, he is reclined in his favorite drinking chair, beer in hand just as Lilith said. Not only that, but a handful of empty cans that Lilith probably didn’t know about litter the floor by his feet. When Dean catches John’s eye, he sees nothing there but the nasty gleam he gets at the start of a long and drunk night. 

     “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Dean asks without thinking. If he had been thinking, he would have remembered to leave his dad the hell alone at the start of his downward spirals. 

     “The fuck’s it to you?” John spits, and Dean scoffs, walking away from his father. _Nothing has changed,_ Dean thinks viciously, storming into the dining room to haul Sam the hell out of there, his wants be damned. Being the kid’s parent sometimes means taking away what he wants most because it will destroy him. 

     “Sam,” Dean hisses, grabbing Sam’s arm and noticing the firm muscle under his palm instead of the fact that he wants to beat the shit out of something. “Nothing’s changed. We’re leaving.” 

     “Dean,” Sam says, pulling away and opening his mouth.

     “Now, now, boys. You aren’t going anywhere. It’s dinner time. Sit down.” Sam turns to Lilith, and if it had been an outsider, her words would have sounded perfectly respectable. Dean supposes they sound that way to Sam seeing as he sits with a small smile her way. Dean though…Dean can see straight through it. He can see the demon behind her dental hygienist’s cover. Even so, Sam is sitting, so Dean will sit too. “Johnny,” Lilith calls, sauntering to the door to get their father. “Come eat, dear,” she calls and Dean snorts when John replies exactly the way Dean expects him to.

     “I’m not fucking hungry,” he screams, and Lilith turns red in the face before excusing herself to go talk to him. 

     “Good luck,” Dean mutters, scooping a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate and ignoring the look Sam gives him. Lilith returns a few moments later, and Dean is just about to snipe at her about her stellar job convincing John when said parent walks through the door, albeit sullen looking but there nonetheless. John sits at the head of the table with Lilith next to him, and for a long while, they eat their meals in silence, that sadistic smile still plastered on Lilith’s face. 

      _Maybe she’s poisoning me,_ Dean thinks suddenly, noticing that she hasn’t touched her mashed potatoes. Just as he thinks that, she takes a slow bite of them, eyes locked with Dean as though she were reading his mind. 

     “So,” Sam says finally, clearly uncomfortable with the silence Dean and Lilith were refusing to allow to die. “How did you and Dad meet?” Lilith tears her eyes away from Dean to smile at Sam.

     “It was love at first sight,” she says with a smile that, aside from the devil horns under her hair, looks perfectly normal. She cuts Dean a very pointed glance, one that says, _this is hell._ “I don’t know how I went my whole life without him. We were made for each other.” Dean grits his teeth, hand clenching around his fork. _Dad was made for my mom,_ he thinks, violently stabbing a set of stray English peas. 

     “That’s nice,” Sam says, but Dean can tell he’s thinking of their mom too. 

     “And I’m so excited to be your new mom,” she says, and Dean’s hands are slamming against the table before he realizes. 

     “You will _never_ be our mom,” Dean hisses, and he sees the flash of that sadistic smile for getting a rise out of him an instant before her eyes fill with tears.

     “Dean!” John shouts, startling them all with his sudden outburst. “Apologize.”

     “What?” Dean screeches. “The bitch is faking.”

     “Dean Winchester, you will _not_ talk to Lilith like that,” John says, more power in his voice than he’s ever heard before. “Apologize,” he says again, but Dean is done taking their bullshit. He is an adult. Today is his birthday. 

     “No,” he says, jutting his jaw out stubbornly. 

     “Dean, so help me,” John growls, and Lilith sniffles next to him.

     “No, no don’t fight,” she says, positively pitiful in her show. “It’s okay. He didn’t mean anything by it.” She wipes away a mascara stained tear and cuts Dean that damn look. John doesn’t see. Of course he doesn’t. 

     “No, damn it. He’s not going to talk to you like that! Dean, _apologize_.” Dean clenches his jaw, too stubborn to relent. “Don’t make me knock some sense into you,” John threatens, and Dean can’t help the laugh that escapes from his lips. 

     “Please do. Show me how sorry you really are.” John’s fingers twitch around his fork, and with food in his stomach, he looks more sober, more like if he were to take a swing at Dean, he would be perfectly accountable. Just like the last night Dean was home. _Isn’t it strange how we always wind up here?_ Dean thinks, mildly amused. Call him crazy, but he’s itching for a fight. Too much is built up inside of him, and he needs something, _anything_ to make it all shut the hell up. 

     “Go to your room, Dean,” John says finally, his voice low and deadly calm. 

     “You’re gonna send me to bed without supper?” Dean asks mockingly. _Please take a swing,_ he begs silently. _Give me a reason, I’m begging you._

     “You’re pushing it, Dean,” John warns, but Dean only laughs. 

     “Dean,” Sam warns quietly, and looking over to the wide eyes and floppy hair sends all the eagerness to fight straight back down. Fighting John means risking Sam, so Dean rises and goes to his room. It isn’t long before a timid hand is knocking that can only belong to Sam.

     “Come in,” Dean calls, and sure enough, that mop of hair pokes its way through Dean’s door. 

     “You okay?” he asks, and Dean smiles. 

     “Sure,” he says, laying back and staring at the ceiling again. He still has glow in the dark stars stuck to it from when he was seven and afraid of the things in the dark. 

     “Happy birthday, Dean,” Sam says quietly, a sadness on his face as he backs away from the door. 

     “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean mutters, but the door is soon shut between and a million miles separate them. Dean is all alone. 

     He drifts in and out of sleep for a while, always coming back to those stars, those nights spent looking to them for comfort. They offer him nothing now. After a while, his phone rings, and he answers without looking to see who it is. 

     “Hello,” he asks, but he isn’t sure if he’s really hearing. 

     “Hey, Dean,” a girl says, and for a moment, he thinks it’s Bela calling to gloat some more about getting him to cheat on Cas. The thought sends a pulse of pain, of unimaginable guilt to his gut, but when he pulls the phone away, the caller ID reads “Anna Milton.” His heart skips a beat, and when he’s ready to answer, his playful banter comes out hard and scratchy.

     “You know, I prefer birthday _sex_ to birthday _calls_ , but I guess this will do,” he teases, flinching when he realizes that he _did_ in fact get birthday sex today. He chokes a bit on the pain of that reminder. _I'm so sorry, Cas,_ he thinks softly. 

     “Oh,” Anna says dumbly, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief for the fact that she did not retort back with, “Yeah, I _know_ you do, you asshole.” Instead, she takes a beat and answers with, “Um, I didn’t know it was your birthday, but happy birthday.”

     “Thanks,” he replies numbly, counting those stars once again. There are eighteen up there. One for each year he has been alive. One for each year he wishes he hadn’t been. 

     “Sure,” she says, and something about her sentence strikes him.

     “Wait, you didn’t know it was my birthday?” he asks, stuttering over the thirteenth star. 

     “No.” Dean sits straight up in bed.

     “Well, then why did you call? Is it…Cas?”

     An eternity of silence passes. 

     “Yeah, Dean,” Anna says with a sigh. “It’s Cas…he’s home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I build up a 5000 word chapter for a cliffhanger like that. Sorry, loves <3
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Not really. I'm a sadist. Next up is the last chapter of part two, i.e. really fucking painful... Brace yourselves...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight self-harm in this chapter. Not cutting or anything, but Dean being a dumbass and hitting shit until his knuckles split, also homophobia, _raging_ assholery, verbal degrading, mention of a panic attack, depression, belittling, telling him he's a fuck up (not sure of the verb for that), and just general making to feel like he's worthless. I'm sorry...

     “What?” Dean says, sitting straight up in bed with the word alone. “Cas? He’s home? He’s _here?_ " He doesn't wait for her response. "I’m coming over.” Dean stands abruptly, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he jumps around the room, frantic, trying to get his pants on. Anna is speaking, but Dean doesn’t hear what she’s saying. All he can hear is _Cas, Cas, Cas._

     “Dean, listen to me!” Anna shouts finally, and he stops, one foot through his leg hole and the other standing counter-productively on the knee so he can’t pull them up. 

     “What?” Dean asks, because what could be more important than going to see Cas _right this very minute?_

     “Dean, Cas is…he’s _different._ ”

     “Different…” Dean mulls, but it doesn’t matter, and he tells her as much. “It doesn’t matter, Anna. He’s still, Cas.”

     “No,” she sighs in exasperation, and Dean takes the moment to pull his pants on the right way. “Dean, you don’t understand. He’s not—”

     “Anna, _it doesn’t matter._ He’s still Cas. I still love him.” Anna lets out a long exhale, and when she speaks, her voice is next to nothing.

     “…okay, Dean,” she says softly, and Dean smiles. He hangs up and finishes dressing in short order. _Cas is home._

     He goes out the window, and the motion is so familiar that he doesn’t trip, doesn’t fall, doesn’t hesitate before he is on the grass and running. Outside, it is dark, but Dean does not notice the cold whipping against his face. He is too warm from the fact that _Cas is home._ It takes no time. Nothing. Not a single heartbeat, not a fraction of a second, and then he is there. He is at that window, peering in with more light in his eyes than he’s seen in years. _Cas is home._ He knocks rapidly, but the shades are drawn from Cas’ long stay away. He doesn’t even know if Cas is in his room; even so, he knocks, some jubilant part of his brain telling him that this is the best birthday present anyone could have ever given him. _Cas is home._ The window blinds part, and for the first time in a month, an eternity, Dean sees those eyes, that mouth. Dean sees Him.

     “ _Cas,_ ” Dean breathes, his entire being relaxing as they stare at each other through the glass. It begins to snow, but Dean can’t move from where he stands. He is frozen solid, not by the cold but by Cas’ eyes. Finally, he snaps out of it, a grin covering his face. “Can I come in?” he asks, and even though the window is shut, he’s sure Cas can read his lips. God knows he’s spent enough time watching them. Even so, a look of confusion covers Cas’ face. He pulls the window open slowly, and Dean slides right through, landing right before Cas with a huge, dopey grin. “Hey, Cas,” he breathes, and an instant later, he is dragging Cas in roughly, holding him against his chest with the force propelled by 2,678,449 seconds apart. 

     All at once, he is overwhelmed by Cas. He is breathing in that scent, nosing against his skull. He is laughing as he cries, shaking so hard that he doesn’t notice Cas isn’t holding him back. He only notices that something is wrong when he pulls apart, sliding his hands around to Cas’ face. Dean starts to lean in, thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks, but Cas shies away from the motion straightaway. Dean pulls back concernedly, lets Cas go, and Cas immediately takes two steps back.

     “So,” Dean says, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into his pockets. _He’s probably just tired,_ Dean thinks, anything to pretend the cold on him now is just from the snow trapped in his hair. “How long have you been home, man?” Dean asks in hopes of making small talk. Cas blinks owlishly at Dean before opening those lips and speaking.

     “Since yesterday afternoon,” Cas says, and Dean can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. 

     “Oh…” Dean clears his throat again, eyes falling to the floor. “Why, uh, why didn’t you call me?” Cas says nothing. “It’s okay,” Dean says finally, a pained smile making its way onto his face. “I’m sure you were busy getting settled.” Again, Cas says nothing. Dean feels a panic rising in his chest, feels it pushing away the joy and the elation of seeing Him again. “So uh…” Dean starts, his hands beginning to shake by his sides. “Did you get my letters?” 

     “I read them, yes,” Cas says, and he had. Naomi handed him the whole stack of stored up letters as a final test on his way out. He read them all, word for word, and then he threw the whole stack away. 

     “Why didn’t you answer?” 

     “I didn’t have the time,” Cas says simply, and it hits Dean like a bag of bricks. Guilt creeps into his veins, swallowing him in its heat.

     “Someone told you,” Dean deems finally, and Cas’ face falls to confusion. 

     “What?” he asks, but Dean is not ready for Cas to play dumb. He is ready for the screaming and the fighting and things returning to normal.

     “ _Bela,_ Cas. Someone told you about Bela,” Dean says, bringing a hand up to his face as though he could wipe away the panic attack beginning beneath his skin. 

     “Bela Talbot? What about her?” Cas asks, brow drawing low across his eyes. 

     “Jesus, Cas. You’re really gonna make me say it?” Dean pulls in a deep breath and lets it out in a rush, voice shaking with the terror of losing him. “I fucked her, okay. She came rubbing up on me cause it’s my birthday, and I guess I was feeling nostalgic and vulnerable because I _missed_ you, and she seduced me, and I fucked her. I’m so sorry, Cas. I never meant to. Please. Please, forgive me. I’m so fucking sorry, I—” but Cas cuts him off.

     “What?” Cas asks, and Dean prepares for the screaming, the fighting, the hot of their hot and cold relationship. “No, Dean, calm down. It’s okay. I’m happy for you.” Dean blinks. _It’s okay. I’m happy for you…_ Dean’s breath catches in his throat. _What?_ “I’m glad you found a woman to love. You deserve a nice girl.” Cas offers Dean a smile and begins to turn away. 

     “Love?” Dean repeats, watching Cas turn on his heels away from him. Dean grabs him by the shoulder to turn him around, letting his hand linger as he speaks. “It was a dumb mistake, Cas. I don’t love _her_. I love _you._ ” Cas smiles a sad smile. 

     “You don’t love me, Dean. You never did.” Cas says the words quietly, but he looks sure, like they didn’t burn like fire on the way out. 

     “ _What?_ ” Dean asks, incredulous, taking in Cas with wide eyes. “Of _course_ I did! I do!” 

     “No, Dean,” Cas says, backing away from the hand Dean still has resting on his shoulder. “You loved the sex and the idea of a safe relationship where you thought you wouldn’t get hurt, but you never loved me.” And it is that moment that Dean sees where he went wrong, where he screwed their whole relationship up. 

     He loves Cas more than anything in the whole world, but he is Dean. Instead, he says “I need you,” “Don’t ever change,” “I’d rather have you,” “I’m not leaving here without you.” Dean kisses knuckles, laughs at jokes, doesn’t move when Cas is asleep on Dean’s shoulder and making his arm fall asleep. He does these things instead of “I love you,” and Cas is human. 

     Cas has doubts and insecurities and those bastards at the clinic found the fact that Dean is a loser boyfriend and pressed and pressed and pressed until Cas shattered. Dean uses “I love you” like the good china, bringing it out for anniversaries and holidays, and he loses the only person who’s ever made him happy to be alive because of it. 

     “Cas,” he starts, choking on the lump forming in his throat. “Please…I love you. How could you not…” but the tears in his eyes are too hot to keep talking. 

     “Dean, it’s over,” Cas says bluntly, stabbing knife deep into Dean’s chest. “It wasn’t real anyway. I was just confused, curious.” A long moment passes, and a darkness that Dean has never before known gathers in Cas’ eyes. “It was _wrong_ ,” he says, and the first tear makes its way down Dean’s face. He turns away from Cas slightly, unable to look at him, but Cas’ voice is still going strong, gaining more and more conviction the longer he talks. “It was wrong and repulsive, and we should be ashamed. _I_ am ashamed. I wish I’d never kissed you, wish I’d never dragged you into this big, filthy mess, and I’m sorry for that Dean.”

     “ _Don’t_ ,” Dean hisses, the tears falling free now. “Don’t you _dare_ apologize for us, not ever. Your love was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

     “I never loved you,” Cas says flatly, and an instant passes before all the air is pushed from Dean’s lungs. 

     “You…” Dean says, but he can’t get the words out. He can’t move. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. 

     “I don’t love you, Dean.” 

     “Yes, you do,” Dean says finally, speaking louder and louder as though it could drown out the shaking in his voice, the shaking of Cas’ head. “You love me. You’ve always loved me! _Please_ , Cas, you have to love me!” Dean is crying, hot and heavy tears roll down his face, dirtying his face with the streaks. “I’m sorry, okay! I’m sorry I fucked Bela! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you often enough! I’m sorry, Cas! Please. _Please._ You have to love me!”

     “I don’t, Dean!” Cas shouts, his voice echoing off his empty walls. “I don’t love you! I never did! I should have never let you touch me the way you did! You sodomized me, _ruined_ me!” 

     “I _loved_ you, Cas!” They are screaming, gravitating, forever trapped in the pull of the other. 

     “ _You destroyed me!_ I will never be good again, never be clean! Do you understand how that feels?! You’re a disgrace, a goddamn felon against goodness!” Dean drops silent, tears still watering in his eyes. 

     “Don’t you say that to me,” he grits out, spittle flying as he speaks. “Not _you_ , Cas.” Cas has tears in his eyes too, and they are standing nose to nose. “Not you…”

     “You are _filth_ , Dean." Cas’ voice is low and deadly. Dean flinches at its magnitude. "What you do is filthy. Everything you touch, you ruin. It will take an eternity to wipe your stain off me.” 

     “ _Please_ , Cas,” Dean whimpers. It is all Dean can say, all that he has left in him. He stares into those eyes for a long moment, the same blue eyes that stared at him under that big tree, the same blue eyes that he’s loved since he was five, the same blue eyes that have taken him apart piece by piece, again and again. They are home. They are every good and warm memory, and nothing will change that. 

     “I hope you’re happy,” Cas says finally, stepping back slightly so that they aren’t sharing every breath. His voice is low and soft and gentle, completely unlike the roughness of his shouts. “I hope you find a nice woman, get married, have three kids. I hope you have a pet fish named Rococo. I hope you love someone, something as fiercely as you thought you loved me.” Cas smiles a smile devoid of warmth, and Dean knows if he stares at it a moment longer, it will be the end of him. 

     "Please, Cas," he whispers, one last time, one last shouted plea to stay, stay, _stay_. He wants that gummy grin, the one that lights up the whole damn room. He wants barely showing eyes and lines even though he’s only seventeen. 

     “Happy birthday, Dean,” Cas whispers, and so with tears in his eyes, on his face, embedded in his shirt, Dean turns away from the only thing he’s ever let himself love.

     The walk back to his own house is excruciating. If Dean thought every step hurt after Bela, then this is torture. It is snowing. Dean guesses this is the cold of their relationship, and God, does Dean feel it. It eats him alive until he can’t tell if his fingers or his soul is colder. He is so distracted that instead of climbing back into the window, he walks right through the front door. 

     “Where have you been?” Lilith asks coolly. She is sitting in John’s drinking chair with the light turned off like the parent trying to catch their child sneaking in after curfew in every cheesy movie ever. Dean is far too tired to fight with her. He is far too tired to exist. He is ruined. 

     “We’re leaving,” Dean says, and it isn’t an invitation to argue. It is simply a fact. He tries to step past her, but she rises and stands before him. She is a small woman, several inches shorter, rather petite, and really much too young for John now that Dean sees her up close. 

     “Where are you going to go, Dean?” She asks, stepping closer and closer, obviously trying to get a rise out of Dean, but he has nothing left to offer her but a small exhale. 

     “Bobby’s…Lebanon…Vermont. I don’t know.” He doesn’t know anything anymore. He just knows he can’t stay here with her, with his father, with _Cas_. 

     “Dean,” Lilith says sweetly, smiling her way closer. “I’m not going to make you stay. You’re obviously very distressed.” She smiles again, her smile turning to that old familiar sadism. “But I am going to make Sam stay. He’s really the only one we want. He is John’s favorite, after all.” Dean would scoff if it didn’t hurt so much.

     “You say that like I don’t know,” Dean counters easily, but it hurts. Dean has always worked so goddamn hard to make his father happy… “I’m not leaving without Sam, and even if I wanted to, Sam wouldn’t let me. Where ever I go, he goes.” 

     “Are you sure, Dean?” Lilith asks, her smile slipping away to fake concern. “Sam is getting pretty grown. Big brother constantly trying to swoop in and save the day probably gets a little tiring for him, don’t you think?” Dean closes his eyes against her. “He doesn’t need you, Dean. He’s better off without you.” 

     “He does need me,” Dean argues, because he _needs_ Sam to need him. He can’t do this if he doesn’t. It’s all so goddamn much. He needs Sam to need him.

     “No, Dean,” Lilith assures, and something inside Dean breaks. “He’s better off here. I can help him in school like you never could. I can be the mother you never could be. I can give his father back to him. Don’t you want that for your brother? Think of sweet little Sammy, Dean. He wants to be a lawyer, you know. Do you know how much law school costs? Even with scholarships, you'll never have enough. I can give him that. All _you_ have to do is go.” Dean stares at her.

     “You’re lying,” he says, but Lilith only smiles. 

     “I’m not,” she says. “I’m a Stanford Alumnus. I can get him a full ride like _that_.” She snaps, and the sound startles Dean. “Even if I can’t get him a scholarship, I’ve got money, _plenty_ to send him to college…to buy him a car…to start a house mortgage. Don’t you want that for your brother?” Dean squeezes his eyes shut because he does want that for Sam. He wants Sam to go to college, to drive, to _thrive_. 

     “Why?” Dean asks, his eyes still shut. “What’s in it for you?” 

     “I get to see Sam and John happy while I never have to see you,” she says quickly, a smile on her lips. “You’re very problematic, see?”

     “How do I know that if I leave, you won’t go back on our deal?” Dean is weak. Dean wants Sam to have the world, and he’s not dumb enough to think he can give it to him, try as he might. 

     “I _never_ go back on a deal,” Lilith promises, her eyes gleaming. Dean stares at her. He doesn’t want to leave Sam. His beaten heart aches at the mere thought of not waking up to that floppy headed mess, those big eyes begging for Jessica to come over. His heart aches at the idea that they will grow apart, that Sam really _doesn’t_ need Dean anymore. 

     But he’s got nothing left. He is being held together now by nothing but skin and Sam, and it is all too much. Everything is too much. He just wants Sam to be happy…if he can have nothing else he cares about in this God forsaken world, give him that.

     “Okay,” Dean whispers, and the smile Lilith gives him is all teeth. 

     “Good,” she says, and the finality in her voice is apparent. Dean is leaving. He’s packing up again, taking what’s left of his life, and getting the hell out of dodge. He is alone. Really and truly…entirely alone. He packs slowly, pulling only what he needs from the drawers and leaving the rest. He takes the picture of his mom, choking back the memory of the day Cas gave it to him. It seems like a lifetime ago, an eternity since they were together and happy… When he’s packed, Dean sits at his desk and begins writing a letter to Sam. 

      _Sam,_ it reads. _You’re probably gonna be pissed at me when you read this. You have every right to be. You’re probably gonna feel abandoned, betrayed, and hurt. You have every right to feel those things too, but please know that this goodbye is not permanent. I’m gonna call you every day, come home and see your punk ass whenever I can, and never stop thinking about you._

      _You’re my baby brother, no matter how tall and gangly you get. I’ll always protect you, always look out for your best interests, and by leaving, I’m doing just that. I know you probably don’t understand, and that’s okay. Maybe one day I can explain. I hope one day I’ll be able to._

      _You know I love you. You know I’d give anything for you. Now I need you to trust me when I say that us separating is the best thing for you, and that I would never do it if it weren’t what I thought was best for you. I can’t look out for you the way you need to be looked out for, and for that, know that I am forever sorry. You deserve the world, and I wish I could stay to see you get it, but I can’t. Please know that I love you. Please know that mom loved you._

      _I don’t want you to ever doubt that. There is nothing that I would put before you, past or present. Please call me. Please forgive me._

     Dean is crying again by the time he finishes. He opens Sam’s door slowly because he’s a coward. He doesn’t want to say goodbye face to face. He won’t be able. So instead, he leaves the letter next to Sam’s sleeping head. He is breathing slowly, eyes barely touching shut, mouth hanging open slightly. He’s got drool on his chin. Dean leans down and kisses his forehead, tears filling in his eyes as he presses his lips to his baby brother’s forehead. The gesture is not unfamiliar. They could never keep up with a thermometer, so Dean used his lips to check for fever, just like his mom had always done for him. Even then, it was always used as a promise of a better tomorrow, never as a goodbye. 

     “Take care, Sammy,” Dean whispers, and walking away from that sleeping boy, the one he raised from diapers, the one he’s loved for his whole life, _that_ is the hardest thing he’s ever done. But he does it. He has to do it. He has to make sure Sam has college and a home and a car and everything he ever needs. So he walks away. 

     He shoulders his baggage, walks past the smirking bitch, and gets in his dad’s old car. The engine roars to life beneath him, but he is too numb to be excited, too numb to be glad. He’s lost everything. He’s lost Bobby…He’s lost John…He’s lost Cas…He’s lost Sam…He’s got nothing left. 

     The road beneath Dean’s wheels is hard. It is unyielding, unforgiving, and Dean likes that. He likes that the road will never change, never decide it no longer loves being navigated. Roads are rock. They do not care one way or the other. Dean wishes he didn’t. He wishes he couldn’t feel a damn thing. 

     He doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s too proud to go to Bobby’s, Ellen’s is closed, Benny’s asleep, and the exits keep passing beneath his wheels. He takes none of them, heading west, running from the slowly rising sun as though he can escape the truth the morning will bring. Somewhere between the fifth of whiskey he found in the console and Colorado, Dean loses it. He loses his whole goddamn mind. 

     By the time he is realizing he’s lost, he is slamming on his brakes in the middle of the interstate, tears rushing down his face and blurring his vision so quickly that he can’t tell if the cars violently honking at him are going to hit him or not. He doesn’t care. 

     Dean spins once, twice, and a third time before his beloved Impala comes to rest, crooked, on the shoulder in the stench of burnt rubber and echo of screeching tires. A few cars pull over to check on him, phones out and ready to call 9-1-1, but when they see Dean sobbing in the front seat, their curiosity gets the better of them.

     “Are you okay?” they ask, and of course, they mean physically. 

     “No,” Dean wails, and the phones fly back out. “Please don’t call,” he begs, hysterical tears falling down his face. “Please don’t.” The phones slide hesitantly back into pockets, their eye brows pulled low over their eyes. 

     “What’s wrong?” they ask him. 

     “I hate my life,” Dean spits, slamming his fists against the steering wheel again and again, surprising himself with the release that comes with an exterior pain such as a split knuckle. He keeps slamming his fists again and again against the steering wheel, tearing the gashes in his knuckles wider and wider until a man stops his arm. 

     “Have you been drinking?” he asks, eyes narrowing at the very obvious scent of liquor on Dean’s breath. He’s wasted out of his mind.

     “I hate my life,” Dean sobs, head falling onto the now bloodied steering wheel. 

     “Is there someone we can call for you?” someone asks. Dean thinks it’s a lady’s voice, soft and sweet like his mother’s used to be. 

     “No,” Dean says, sitting up and looking to the voice. She’s very pretty. _Looks kinda like Lisa,_ Dean thinks lazily. She has dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. She is wearing a nurse’s badge that reads _Carmen._ “They’re all gone,” he says, but his voice breaks on gone, pushing him back to racking sobs. “They’re all gone.”

* * *

     Castiel looks around his room. It’s a nice enough room, he supposes. He’s definitely glad to have his queen-sized bed back, despite all the ungodliness that happened in it. Perhaps he should buy new sheets... Anyway, Castiel has always enjoyed having his own room, his own privacy. It leaves him free to decorate however he wanted. When he was six, it was bumble bees. When he was ten, it was Superman. When he was fifteen, it was simple, dark colors on the bed, light colors on the wall, maps and papers and everything else tacked to the paint and scattered over his desk. It’s stayed that way ever since, gaining a new poster here, a new book there. His most recent addition is a sign he never got the chance to hang…you know the one, and it sends him back.

      _"Sceadan Street" Cas reads, a grin coming onto his face. Dean is standing before him, but it’s a dream. Cas is at the clinic. Dean is at home. The sign is somewhere between, stuck between Cas’ room and Cas’ thoughts. If that’s the case, Dean is stuck somewhere between too._

      _“Hey, Cas,” Charlie says, poking her head into the room and frowning upon seeing Cas, red hair falling into her face. “What are you grinning about?”_

      _“What is my sole reason for grinning in this hellhole?” he asks, his smile slipping a bit as reality comes back to him._

      _“Dean,” Charlie says, and His name is sacred, spoken with reverence and softness because Cas loves Dean. Cas says nothing, just chases those fading green eyes. “What was it?”_

      _“He gave me a street sign for my Christmas present,” Cas says, his grin returning a bit. Charlie’s brow furrows like she is working out a particularly complicated puzzle._

      _“That’s…nice,” she says, raising it like a question, and Cas laughs._

      _“It was. It meant a lot. We’ve lived together on that street for almost thirteen years, and to top that off, the street name was an anagram of our names.” Cas smiles, remembering the light, the hope, in Dean’s eyes as he handed Cas the present._

      _“That’s nice,” Charlie says, but this time, it is confident, sincere._

      _“Yeah…it’s just something I like to remember when I start to doubt.”_

     Castiel picks the sign up now, holding it gingerly as he remembers the day again. He remembers the laughter, the tears, the kisses, the sex. He wants to remember, but not for the same reason he did in the clinic. He wants to remember now to avoid those mistakes in the future. Castiel puts the sign in his bottom drawer, out of sight, out of mind. When he straightens back up, he already feels lighter, _cleaner_ , as if Dean’s influence were washing away from him with every passing second. 

     Castiel won’t lie and say he was unaffected seeing Dean after all this time. He’s still Dean. He’s still Castiel’s best friend. Castiel’s first instinct was to run to Dean, to jump into those arms and squeeze him with everything in him. But then he thought of Naomi and April, of himself, of everyone who worked to get him where he is today. _Homosexuality is wrong._ He’s glad he treated Dean the way he did, harsh as that might have been. 

     It was in Dean’s best interest. Dean’s never been someone who would listen unless the message was being slammed into him. Castiel’s message was that they were over, that Dean needs to get his act together. He’s still Dean. He’s still Castiel’s best friend. Castiel doesn’t want to see Dean live his life in the wrong way, live his life on a road headed for hell. 

     Castiel tells himself again and again, _what I did was_ right. _My harsh words were in Dean’s best interest._ He tells himself, _I may be hurting Dean now, but in the long run, I will have done nothing but help him. I just had to make sure my message was received,_ and judging by the completely destroyed look on Dean’s face, it was received loud and clear. _It was for the best,_ and Castiel really believes it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CURTAINS FALL WITH A SWOOSH. Okay, so... What are you guys thinking? Love me? Hate me? Secretly planning to murder me? Not so secretly planning to murder me? Any of the above, I would not blame you for. (Except maybe loving me, cause like, did you read that chapter? I am a terrible human being.) 
> 
> Other than that, I suppose all that is left are my endless, _endless_ thanks to you guys for all that you do: forgiving me for putting the boys through this, reading my little fic despite it all, commenting your impassioned and ecstatic thoughts about a chapter, kudosing when there's nothing left to say, and inspiring me, always. Oh my god, you cannot possibly understand the extent to which your comments _always_ inspire me. You all are the reason this fic is still alive, so pat yourselves on the back. I love you all endlessly, from the bottom of my heart. You guys rock. Thank you, thank you, _thank you._
> 
> Onward to part three.


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